Breaking Glass
by AshtrayHeart86
Summary: When dreams become too much, and a teenage boy never leaves his mind, Roy Mustang realizes he needs help. What he didn't count on was a mental asylum, his own sanity slipping away, or Edward's true intentions. RoyxEd. RoyxMaes. AU.
1. Haunted

Allow me to tell you a story (It's quick, I promise). I had a dream one night, and since I don't usually remember my dreams, this was pretty nifty. I found it quite interesting, so I took a shower to get my plot bunnies into gear, sat down, and wrote them all out for about an hour. This is what came out.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist. If I did, I'd be off fangirly screaming and glomping Edo and Roy right now. Not that I...do that...or anything...Heh...

**Warning(s): **Rated for themes, and the rating will possibly go up in later chapters. Depends on how I feel at the time. This story contains spoilers for various episodes of the series, in no particular order, so if you haven't seen Fullmetal Alchemist in it's entirety, I suggest you don't read this, and go watch it. Now.

* * *

_"Now why the Hell did you two run away without asking for my help first?!"_

_His eyes viciously narrowed, the tall, dark-haired figure bellowed down at his companion: The one who had haunted his dreams for months, for reasons he could not even begin to attempt to comprehend. He was standing opposite him, his long, blond hair drawn back in a braid, and his amber eyes wide with disbelief. For a moment, both were silent and unmoving, before the blond gave a smile that was almost a smirk as realization dawned._

With a sickening jolt, the image faltered, and he found an uncomfortable knot welling in the pit of his stomach. He could not explain it, any more than he could decipher the identity of this blond, but somehow he simply knew that the next series of images to flood his poor mind would not be ones he would find particularly pleasant.

_He kept his gaze focused upon the ground that his feet were pounding, his hands shoved deep in the pockets of his jacket. This recollection felt earlier than the last, several years perhaps. The strain seemed devoid from his face as he glanced into a nearby shop window, though that smirk of his still seemed permanently affixed to his lips._

_He raised a gloved hand, and softly pushed open the gate, which swung to admit him, creaking eerily in the slight breeze that these winter nights always seemed to possess. He heard it close behind him, though his focus was not upon the gate. Instead, he was watching a figure sitting on the swing several feet from him, kicking out at the ground in annoyance._

_He couldn't have been any older than fifteen, though his long, blond hair covered his face, almost deliberately. He was repeatedly clenching and unclenching the fingers of his right hand in an almost unconscious motion, and the taller figure couldn't prevent a faint smirk at the gesture._

_He took a step forward, and immediately the boy's head snapped up, revealing piercing amber eyes. A second later, he had dropped his gaze again and the figure standing opposite him distinctly caught several curses being hissed from his mouth. This did not deter him, however, if anything it encouraged him, as he walked towards the boy, and took a seat on the swing beside him._

_"Edward." he said softly._

_The blond did not avert his gaze, and when he spoke, his voice was monotonous, as though reciting some deeply boring passage from an equally tedious book. "I haven't broken anything, I'm not about to cost you any money, you don't have any more paperwork to ignore, and I'm not going to die on you. Happy?"_

_His onyx-eyed companion surveyed him with mild amusement for a moment, and smiled faintly. "I'd have thought the fact that I referred to you by your name rather than your title made it quite clear that I don't want to talk about work, Edward."_

_"Oh, it did, Colonel," he replied, deliberately emphasizing his rank. "But I can guarantee that whatever it is you want to talk about, I don't. So why don't you just leave?"_

_"I wasn't asking you to talk." he said simply. _

_"So what is it you want to tell me?" Edward snarled, glancing up for the first time since the beginning of the conversation and meeting those cold, hollow eyes, glaring back into them with his own enraged amber pupils. "Come to make my life even more of a misery than you already fucking have? Or d'you want to tell me what else I've done to ruin your career?" he rested his chin on his palm, his eyes wide with mock intrigue. "Pray tell, Colonel. I honestly am riveted."_

_The taller figure smiled faintly at his subordinate's defiance. He had expected nothing less from the ill-tempered blond, and it never failed to amuse him. He remained silent for several moments, awaiting the fury in the blond's eyes to retreat very slightly, until all that was left was his usual indifferent, though irritated, expression._

_In one, swift motion, he got to his feet and stood directly in front of the smaller figure, gazing down at him with an expression of mingled amusement, and something that perhaps resembled awe. Even he wasn't certain of his own intentions any more._

_He was determinedly staring at his feet, which he was shifting uncomfortably beneath the Colonel's stare. His golden hair was covering his pallid face once again, and without even thinking, the dark-haired figure stooped down, and gently brushed it away, causing him to start, and stare at him in alarm._

_"What the Hell are you-"_

_"Edward," he murmured softly, lowering his hand to gently caress his cheek. "Don't tell me you haven't noticed?"_

_The blond swallowed hard. "N-noticed what?"_

_The regret in his eyes was perfectly evident the instant the words left his mouth, and even the Colonel was surprised at how fragile his tone had suddenly become. The realization struck him with such ferocity that it was almost painful. He would have to progress carefully from this moment on if he wished to divulge what had been plaguing him since the moment he had laid eyes on Edward Elric. How could he not have noticed the vulnerability within him, before?_

_"That things have changed," he said. "That the way I look at you is..." he trailed off, speechless for the first time in living memory._

_Thankfully, Edward seemed to understand, as his skin blanched further, becoming a delicate shade of gray, and he slowly raised his head to meet the Colonel's gaze, his eyes wide and fearful. He could tolerate Colonel Bastard with ease, even relish, but this suddenly sentimental Colonel was unheard of, especially when this sentiment was directed at him._

_"You hate me," he said quietly. "You've hated me since the day you showed up in Resembool."_

_Drawing a deep breath, the Colonel dropped to his knees, and found himself level with the still seated Edward. His hand remaining upon his cheek, he leaned forward, and pressed his lips so gently to Edward's that they were barely touching, though the blond still flinched at the contact._

_A moment that felt like an eternity passed before the Colonel pulled away, and Edward was stunned to find any facade absent from his eyes. All that lay within his pupils was the true Roy Mustang, that very few had ever been privileged enough to see, without even a semblance of the cold indifference that his onyx eyes normally possessed._

_When he spoke, his voice was barely a whisper. "Do you honestly believe that?"_

"Roy? Roy?!"

He awoke with a start, his eyelids flickering open so suddenly that the figure leaning over him, gently shaking his shoulders, flinched back in surprise. His shoulders sank in relief, and he gave an exasperated smile, pushing his spectacles to the bridge of his nose, as they had fallen at some point during his companion's rude awakening.

"What?" groaned Roy, raking a hand through his hair.

"You're late."

He stared blankly at the bespectacled figure for a moment, before he tilted his head very slightly to the right, and his digital alarm clock swam into his line of vision. Blinking, he managed to register the scarlet numbers as 8:45, and with a hiss of, "Shit!" he tore himself free of the covers, and raced into the bathroom, clad only in a pair of boxers, much to the amusement of the figure still watching him from the bed.

The crooked smile faltered, and he got to his feet, casually following Roy into the bathroom. He hung back, leaning against the door frame as he awaited him to finish his shower, anxiously picking at his fingernails. Minutes later, he was frantically rubbing his jet black hair with a towel using his left hand, and attempting to squeeze some toothpaste onto his brush with his right, and the slightly shorter figure in the doorway chose that moment to voice what was plaguing him.

"Roy?"

"Maes, I have..." his eyes flickered towards the clock again. "Eleven minutes to get ready, and get to work. What d'you want?"

All too used to Roy's temperament at such an hour, Maes simply overlooked his irritable tone. "Have you been having those dreams again?"

The effect of his words was immediate. Roy's toothbrush slipped from his hand and fell to the tiled floor, at exactly the same time as his grip on his towel slackened, and it too hit the ground. He eyed his room mate sheepishly, silently questioning what he had done to give him reason to suspect him.

"It's just," Maes continued, with a calm air that was clearly feigned. "You were moaning in your sleep last night about some Edward."

"Oh!" Roy said quickly, stooping down to throw his towel across the room, and pick up his toothbrush once again. "Yeah. I don't know what the fuck these dreams are all about. I don't even _know_ an Edward."

Maes arched a brow. "Are you sure?"

"Of course." Roy replied smoothly, though since he had begun to brush his teeth by this point, it sounded more like, "O' courfe."

Apparently satisfied by this response (though Roy couldn't imagine why) Maes turned on his heel and returned to the bedroom in search of something appropriate to wear for work that day, leaving Roy to continue his morning ritual with haste.

He checked his watch in panic as he wrenched on his shoes, which had been shined to their usual perfection, and grimaced upon realizing he was already late. Grabbing his keys from their usual haunt (strewn lazily across the kitchen table, and accompanied by several empty bottles of liquor) he shouted a quick goodbye, and slammed the door behind him with such ferocity that he flinched at the sound.

He didn't even look where he was going as his feet pounded the cracked sidewalk. His gaze was focused on his watch, which he checked every few seconds as he furiously attempted to concoct a plausible excuse as to why he was late _again_. He didn't suppose, "I've been having these weird dreams lately and slept straight through my alarm for the third time this week." would quite cut it, somehow.

So distracted, it came as no surprise when he ran straight into another figure, and both of them collapsed to the ground with a loud _thump_. Instantly, Roy was on his feet once again, and holding out a hand to assist the poor pedestrian who had been unlucky enough to encounter him on such a morning.

"I'm sorry!" he said quickly. "I'm late, and I wasn't-"

He cut himself off abruptly as the figure looked up at him, massaging the back of his neck in annoyance. He would recognize those amber eyes anywhere. They had, after all, haunted him for much longer than he cared to remember.

"Edward?"


	2. Prisoner

The blond was simply staring at him, his mouth agape, and eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Roy was certain this was the same figure (_Child?_ his mind asked uneasily) that had been plaguing him for months. The only difference was, instead of that scarlet coat that he usually wore, he was clad in a short-sleeved white shirt, which blissfully announced to everybody that he was lacking a limb, and matching pants. His feet were bare, and bruised from the uneven cement of the sidewalk.

He blinked. "Colonel?"

The confusion suddenly passed to Roy, who cocked a brow at him. He was often referred to by his rank, in fact, he wasn't sure the majority of his colleagues and superiors actually _knew_ his name, but he was the Chief Inspector of the local police department, certainly not a military man, as the blond seemed to imply.

Before he had a chance to respond, the blond laughed, and he winced at how hoarse his voice sounded, almost as though he had never used it before. "Colonel Bastard, it _is_ you. What the Hell are you doing on this side of the Gate?"

Having interrogated many suspects during his time on the force, Roy had heard many peculiar statements, though none so much as that one. Edward raised an eyebrow expectantly, and it was only then that Roy realized he was being perfectly serious, and he was awaiting his reply.

"What?" he asked weakly.

"Don't play dumb," the boy snapped. "You followed me, didn't you? Well, I hope you know there's no way to get back. You're stuck with me," he paused. "Wait, that means I'm stuck with _you_? Aw, Hell-"

"Edward," Roy interrupted. "I don't know who you think I am, but I'm not a Colonel," he contemplated his earlier words for a moment. "But I won't deny that I can be a bastard if the urge to do so strikes me."

"You're damn right," he muttered, clearly irritated. "Alright then. If you're not Colonel Roy Bastard Mustang, then why do you know my name?"

The taller figure gave a sheepish smile. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Try me."

Roy was taken aback by how quickly he responded, and how he glanced up, meeting his eyes with his own amber ones blazing with defiance. The expression looked strange on someone so young, but it seemed so familiar, almost as though he had seen this same stubborn look in his eyes a thousand times before.

He sighed. "I've been having these dreams. About you."

Edward's pale flesh blanched further at his words, and his eyes became wide. "Y-you've seen it? The other side?"

"If that's what you wanna call it," Roy shrugged. "I just remember you from them, that's all."

"There he is!"

From over the blond's shoulder, he saw several figures emerge from a distant corner further down the street, pointing directly at him. Turning so as to decipher what had caught his companion's attention, Edward blanched once again, his flesh now becoming a delicate tinge of gray, his expression stating clearly that he knew he ought to run, but for reasons unknown, his legs refused to move at the desired pace.

He whipped around, and grabbed the taller figure by the shoulders. "Colonel!" he hissed desperately. "Roy...whoever the Hell you are...you have to help me! I can't go back there!"

"Back...where?" asked Roy. "Edward, who are they?"

"They don't understand!" he moaned helplessly, a manic glint in his eyes that Roy had to fight to prevent himself from recoiling from. "They think I'm crazy! But you know, you've seen it!"

In the short space of time it had taken Edward to plea for assistance, the figures had reached them. Two of them grabbed him by the shoulders, wrenching him away from the stunned Chief Inspector, and wrestled him to the ground, without any regard to how he shrieked intelligible curses, and thrashed wildly in an attempt to free himself from the tangle of limbs. The other figure simply stooped down when his colleagues had managed to render the blond almost motionless, and took a firm hold of his flesh arm, plunging a syringe into the exposed forearm with such agility that Edward did not even notice.

Moments later, he fell limp, and the two men holding him to the ground gave a simultaneous sigh of relief, and relinquished the pressure upon his frail body. The more muscular of the three picked him up none too gently, throwing him over his shoulder, and stared blankly at Roy, as though only then realizing that he was present.

"Terribly sorry, Sir," he said, his voice deep, and containing a formality that caused Roy to give an uneasy smile, and rake a hand through his hair. "This isn't the first time he's tried to escape. We should have been better equipped to keep him contained."

The smile faltered. "Escape?"

The figure to his left: a nervous male who looked miniscule in comparison to his large companion, clad in a similar uniform and pushing a round pair of spectacles to the bridge of his nose gave a solemn nod. "I'm afraid so. He was a top security inmate, too."

"You mean," Roy's insides clenched uncomfortably. "He's a prisoner?"

A scoff from the right of the enormous male alerted Roy to the other figure's presence. He was blond, his hair a similar hue to that of Edward's, and grinning lazily, rifling in one of his pockets for a match to light the cigarette he now had pursed between his lips.

"I wish," he said, successfully lighting the cigarette, and drawing the contained nicotine deep into his lungs. "Sure would make our jobs a Hell of a lot easier," he jabbed his thumb in the direction of the unconscious blond. "Nah, Elric's from the mental asylum. You should've seen what he did to his-"

"Havoc!" the smaller figure admonished, glancing fearfully in Roy's direction. "I'm sorry. I hope he wasn't troubling you."

"No, not at all," mumbled Roy, still digesting the information that the one person he thought could divulge what exactly these dreams were all about was so far from his right mind, it wasn't even funny. "I didn't realize. Where he's from, I mean."

"Seriously?" Havoc cocked a brow. "The kid's always going on about some 'Gate' and this 'Other World'," he quoted using the index and middle fingers of both hands, without displacing his cigarette in the slightest. "Quack says he's never seen someone so delusional."

The casual demeanor in which Edward's obviously serious condition was discussed did nothing to comfort the Chief Inspector. He usually remained so detached about cases like this, ensuring that the culprits were locked away for the longest period of time possible without a second thought. But Edward...Edward was different. He was one of _them_, no doubt about it, but he had never found himself so obsessed with anyone like him before.

"We must return young Mr. Elric to the asylum before he wakes," the large figure stated suddenly, causing all three of them to flinch. "I do hope we don't see each other again, good Sir."

"Roy," he replied, all too eager to get as far away from this skyscraper of a man as possible. "And yeah, you too."

He turned abruptly on his heel and started to walk, at as quick a pace as he was capable of without sprinting. Luckily, he hadn't been too far from the station when he stumbled across the blond, and was able to reach it in minutes. He received his usual disapproving glance from his receptionist as he entered the building, though he barely noticed. He didn't even bother to head to the coffee machine, as he had done every morning without fail since his first day here.

He unlocked the door of his office with some difficulty, realizing only after almost five minutes of turning the key in annoyance that he was actually turning it in the wrong direction. Hastily correcting himself, he kicked the door to a close behind him, and sat down in front of his computer. He drummed his fingers against his desk impatiently as he waited for the obsolete piece of junk to start up, until finally it allowed him to open the file which contained the criminal database.

He typed in the four required passwords, muttering darkly under his breath, and once he had managed to gain entry, he typed 'Edward Elric' and hit the enter key. Several more minutes of anxious drumming followed, during which he stared blankly at the opposite wall as though it was the most interesting thing he had ever seen in his life. Some part of him wasn't sure he actually _wanted_ to know what Edward had done to find himself committed to a lunatic asylum, but even so, he couldn't stop himself. He had to find out what was going on here.

A small _beep_ informed him that his computer had actually managed to do something right for once, and a case photograph of the now familiar blond appeared on the screen, complete with his entire profile. Drawing breath sharply, Roy began to read.

"**Name:** _Edward Elric_

**Age:** _16_

**Date of Birth: **_Unknown_

**Current Location:** _Prestwich Lunatic Asylum_

**Mother:** _Trisha Elric - deceased_

**Father: **_Unknown_

**Siblings:** _Alphonse Elric - whereabouts unknown_**"**

Roy furrowed his brow in annoyance, gently massaging his temples with his fingertips. He was desperately attempting to ignore the fact that in his dreams, he was having a relationship with a sixteen year old, though it was proving difficult. As he scrolled down, a statement from his psychiatrist appeared, and all thought of his dreams escaped him.

"_Edward was found on October 3 2006 after neighbors called the police upon hearing screams from the house. Police arrived on the scene to find him missing both his right arm and left leg, which still have not been found, next to the body of his mother, Trisha Elric. He was convicted of first-degree murder and ordered to serve an unlimited sentence in Prestwich Lunatic Asylum._

_Edward seems to be convinced that he is not of this world, and is in fact from a 'parallel universe' called Amestris. The causes of these delusions are unknown, and as are his motives for the murder of his mother, though he is adamant that her death was not his fault. When questioned what he was doing in the house, he replied that he did not know. Most likely diagnosis is paranoid schizophrenia. Medication has yet to be prescribed._"

Roy's jaw was slack, and remained in that position until he reached the end of the document. He had not even considered the possibility that Edward might have committed such a crime as murder, and even then, reading the cold, formal words of the psychiatrist, he still could not bring himself to believe it. How could such an innocent child murder his own mother, because of delusions that he seemed to be mimicking in his dreams? It just didn't make sense.

He glanced up sharply as the door opened, revealing his partner: Police Sergeant Riza Hawkeye. He wasn't particularly surprised that she was carrying a mass of paperwork for him to sign, since every time she entered his office, she seemed to come bearing another stack of papers. His shoulders sank at the mere thought of how many times he'd have to write out his signature.

"If you'd have done it last week, you wouldn't have all this to do, Chief Inspector," she said, with the faintest hint of a smirk. He scowled, but she took no notice, as always. "Oh, and Chief Constable Bradley wants to talk to you."

With that, she left the room, without giving him a chance to question exactly why the Chief Constable of all people wished to see him. He leaned back in his chair, and groaned loudly, closing his eyes and pulling at his unkempt crop of jet black hair, as he often did when he was frustrated,

He was _definitely_ going to need that coffee.

* * *

Confused? That means I'm doing my job properly! (grins) The explanation will come, I promise!

As you may have noticed, since I'm British, I used the ranks of the British police force in this story, because I don't know the American ones. For those who don't know, the ranks are as follows, lowest to highest:

Police Constable  
Police Sergeant  
Inspector  
Chief Inspector  
Superintendent  
Chief Superintendent  
Assistant Chief Constable  
Deputy Chief Constable  
Chief Constable


	3. Pursuing Truth

This one isn't as long as my others have come to be, but I left it at a cliffhanger-ish point that I was happy with, so that's okay. Apologies for the delay. I have another thousand and one assignments to take care of over the next week...yay procrastination!

**Disclaimer:**I still don't own Fullmetal Alchemist, or any of it's characters since they escaped from my closet a few days ago. I'm sending my SWAT team of magic pants after them as we speak.

* * *

Following a murderous glare from his blond colleague, Roy wrenched his limbs from his uncomfortable chair, all too aware of how difficult the concept of movement suddenly seemed, and decided to take a quick detour via the coffee machine before heading to the Chief Constable's office. If he _was_ about to be admonished for his sudden lack of punctuality, he'd be needing some caffeine in his system in order to formulate an excuse that would fool even him.

He yawned loudly as he picked up a plastic cup, and pressed the button that corresponded to the strongest coffee that the machine contained. He leaned against the wall as he waited for it to fill, and silently cursed the smoking ban that the Chief Constable had placed upon the entirety of the building. He didn't consider himself a smoker, but at that moment, he would've killed for a nicotine fix.

"Alright, Roy?"

He glanced up as another of his colleagues: Police Constable Heymans Breda entered the room, and picked up a plastic cup of his own, grinning in a manner that Roy considered to be obscene at such an hour. Removing his coffee from the machine, he took a tentative sip, and threw Breda a disgruntled glare over the rim of it.

He chuckled. "What crawled up your ass and died?"

"Bradley wants to see me," he replied, taking another sip, and cringing at the taste. "He's probably noticed how many times I've been late. Or maybe Hawkeye told him about how I fell asleep on my desk last Tuesday."

"Maybe he wants to promote you," Breda replied thoughtfully. "You did bust those crack dealers a couple weeks back."

Roy scoffed. "Since when has he ever congratulated anybody in person? You only get called to Bradley's office when you've fucked up."

"Chief Inspector!"

He flinched, so violently that several drops of his coffee escaped the plastic cup, and cascaded upon his shoes, which were scuffed and clearly had not been polished in weeks. He turned his head, a sheepish grin curving his lips, though it faltered immediately as he spotted Riza standing on the opposite side of the room, her pistol clutched tightly in her right hand, and pointing straight at the center of his forehead.

Sighing, he drained the remainder of his coffee, despite how it burned it's way down his throat, and tossed the cup into the wastebasket located beside the machine. "Okay," he said, holding up his hands in defeat. "I'm going."

The pistol did not return to it's respective holster until Roy started towards the door, leading to a long and foreboding corridor. It was painted a dull, unpleasant gray, and his footsteps echoed eerily in the silence, causing shivers to steadily descend his spine. He pushed them to the back of his mind, and instead focused upon the large door, looming ominously at the end of the hallway, bearing a golden plate emblazoned with the words, "Chief Constable K. Bradley."

He reached it within seconds, and hovered awkwardly outside, shifting from one foot to the other and contemplating why raising his hand and rapping his knuckles upon the wood suddenly seemed so complicated. Though a usually jovial figure, Chief Constable Bradley could be incredibly intimidating when the desire struck him, and would have absolutely no regrets if he chose this opportunity to relieve Roy Mustang of the profession he had dedicated his life to.

"Mustang, is that you?"

He flinched again at the familiar voice from within the office. "Yes, Sir."

"I thought so," it sounded suspiciously as though he was smiling. "Are you going to stand out there all day?"

Silently cursing his heavy footsteps, he reached out and turned the handle, allowing him to gain entry to the room beyond. He caught sight of Bradley immediately, seated behind his desk on the opposite side of the room, his chin resting upon his interlocked fingers. His expression was one of faint amusement, which lessened Roy's apprehension, if only slightly.

"You wanted to see me, Sir?"

He nodded solemnly. "It's come to my attention that you've been a little..._distracted_ lately, Mustang."

Roy inclined his head. "That's right, Sir."

"Sergeant Hawkeye tells me you even fell asleep at your desk."

Wincing slightly, Roy forced back the sudden betrayal that welled in the pit of his stomach. Although Riza was always one to abide by the rules, he hadn't expected her to sell him out at the slightest of indiscretions. What did it matter, anyway? He had slipped out of consciousness for all of five minutes before Riza arrived with a fresh stack of paperwork, and even if he hadn't been apprehended, he couldn't have managed to sleep for much longer on that godawful rickety desk.

Drawing himself up to his full height, he replied, almost defiantly, "Yes, Sir."

The Chief Constable sighed. "Obviously you have something on your mind, Mustang, and it's affecting your work. You have a team to lead and there are criminals to catch. You can't do that if you're half asleep."

Roy could sense where this conversation was heading, and remained perfectly silent, forcing his expression to become stoic. If he had to leave, he would do so with his dignity, and his seemingly impenetrable barrier of an ego firmly in place.

"I want you to take a break," said Bradley. "Get some sleep, see a counsellor if you think it'll help. I expect you back in two weeks, well rested and ready to get back to work."

Subtly, Roy released the breath he wasn't aware he had been holding. "Understood, Sir."

With agility Roy wasn't aware he possessed in his current state of lethargy, he turned abruptly on his heel and swept from the room, pulling the jacket he had forgotten to remove closer to his shoulders as though to serve as some vague semblance of comfort. He spoke to no one as he left the building, and his subordinates and colleagues knew by his expression not to approach him.

As his feet pounded the sidewalk, Bradley's words resounded in his mind, repeating themselves over and over until they seemed to lose all meaning. "_See a counsellor if you think it'll help..._" They struck a chord deep within him, signalling that somewhere, in the depths of his subconscious, a plan was formulating itself: a plan that would enable him to finally rest, to find out what exactly was going on here. A plan that very well might take his life in the process.

He was surprised to find the front door unlocked, though his expression did not show it. He simply walked into the house, his mind numb, and kicked off his shoes without any regard as to how they hit the skirting board with such force, that they rebounded off of it, and scattered across the floor.

"Roy? Is that you?"

Draping his jacket over the back of the nearest armchair, he headed in the direction of the voice: the kitchen, and spotted Maes sitting on top of one of the counters, devouring a piece of toast as though ravenous, and pushing his spectacles to the bridge of his nose with his other hand. Once he acknowledged Roy's expression, he abandoned his breakfast and hopped down from the counter, his own expression one of utmost concern.

"What happened? Is everything okay?"

"I got discharged for two weeks." he replied dully, his gaze averted ashamedly to the tiled floor.

"What?!" Maes' eyes widened almost comically. "Why the Hell would they do that? You're the best they've go..." he trailed off as realization dawned. "The dreams."

Roy nodded. "I'm sorry."

"Jesus, Roy," Maes shook his head disbelievingly, moving forward to tightly embrace his companion. "D'you have any idea how ill you look? These things are killing you. They're ruining your life. You need to get help!"

It was that exact moment when everything slipped into place. Roy lightly closed his eyes as he returned the embrace, troubling as always to keep his emotions locked away, though that didn't prevent his heart from thudding beneath his ribcage, so rapidly it seemed to be attempting to escape, just as Edward had done barely an hour ago.

He felt no fear. All that flooded his veins was adrenalin, as he realized that finally, he could discover the truth. He was so close he could almost taste it, but first he had to gather enough courage to break down everything he had created for himself, in order to gain the knowledge he craved

"I will," he mumbled into Maes' comforting shoulder. "I promise."

"Swear to me, Roy!"

His voice was laced with desperation, and the pain of watching someone he loved so confused, so hollow was perfectly evident. Roy's heart ached, and he found himself unconsciously clutching him tighter. He despised himself for causing Maes so much agony, but he couldn't prevent the faintest of smiles from playing about his lips. He was going to fix this, and as far as he was concerned, there was only one way to do that.

"I swear, Maes."

Smiling, though faintly, Maes kissed him goodbye, before dislodging his briefcase from underneath the couch (how it had managed to find it's way there, he would never know) and leaving for work. Roy remained in the kitchen for at least five minutes until he was certain he would not return, feeling horrendously out of place for reasons he could not even begin to understand. He then moved to the living room, grabbing the enormous book from underneath the small table upon which the telephone resided, and opening it to the letter P.

Locating the number he required, he picked up the receiver and dialed, unsure of whether the knot in his stomach was dread, or some twisted form of excitement. He wasn't certain he _wanted_ to know.

Moments later, the telephone was picked up, and a cool, female voice greeted, "Prestwich Lunatic Asylum, how may I help you?"

Drawing breath to prepare himself, Roy replied, "I'd like to see Edward Elric, please. As soon as possible."


	4. Equivalent Exchange

Almost a week had passed before Roy Mustang found himself sitting on an extremely uncomfortable plastic chair, shifting from one foot to the other, and raking his hands anxiously through his already unkempt hair. The silence of the waiting room was eerie, and the blindingly white walls were rapidly causing a sharp twinge of pain in his head, though the adrenalin that flowed through his veins mostly numbed it. He was extremely thankful for that. His entire body was already shaking with nerves, and he wasn't certain he could handle the agony of a migraine too.

The other occupants of the small room were clearly visiting family or loved ones, as the sorrow in their eyes was perfectly evident. Roy pitied them. He barely knew Edward, except for what his nightmares could inform him of, and his anxiety was already beginning to overtake him. He could only imagine how complex his emotions would be if he actually _felt_ something for the boy.

"_But you do, don't you?_" his mind taunted. "_Otherwise you wouldn't be here. And as for those dreams of yours-_"

"Mr. Mustang?"

He glanced up sharply as the receptionist called his name, grateful of any form of distraction from his own merciless mind. It never failed to unsettle him how his conscience sounded exactly like Maes. When it affected that mocking tone, it drove countless shivers down his spine. He had never heard Maes speak that way to anybody in his life, and it was definitely not something he wanted to experience.

"Yes?" he asked, forcing any expression from his face, as he always did.

"Or, uh, is it Chief Inspector?" she murmured, glancing at her appointment sheet.

"Roy is fine." he replied, almost coldly.

She smiled warmly at him, and he resisted the sudden powerful urge to roll his eyes. "If you'd like to go through that door," she pointed towards a white door on his right, which he presumed to precede the cells. "And it's the first door on your right."

He thanked her, and got to his feet, gritting his teeth as he felt his legs shivering beneath his weight, as though they were uncertain whether or not they could hold him. He remained in a standing position for several moments to gather his strength, before he drew a deep breath, and walked towards the door, his fists clenched tightly in his pockets.

"Oh, uh...Roy?"

He turned around as the receptionist addressed him once again, an impatient eyebrow raised. She seemed to notice this, as she gave a small, sheepish smile, and averted her gaze to her desk once again.

"I don't know if you're aware, but Edward tried to escape last week," she said softly. "The doctors consider him quite dangerous. You'll need your wits about you. He's a strong one, especially with that metal arm of his."

He forced a smile, one that didn't quite reach his eyes. "I assure you, I'll be fine."

Without another word, he turned once again, and swiftly left the room, closing the door behind him with more force than he had intended. Standing guard outside the miniscule room he had been instructed to enter was a muscular doctor, clad in a white coat that almost camouflaged him against the wall, much to Roy's amusement and distaste. He removed his badge from his pocket and held it aloft for the doctor's inspection, receiving only the ghost of a nod in response. Edging past this figure, he turned the door handle, and entered the room.

He caught sight of the shock of blond hair immediately, though several seconds passed before his mind managed to process the state of the object of his sudden obsession. His golden eyes were hollow and blank, and his prosthetic arm was shackled to the chair upon which he was seated. He was gazing up at the ceiling, though his eyes averted very slightly as Roy entered, in a vague acknowledgement of his presence.

He did not speak as he crossed the room and took the seat opposite him, folding his hands on his lap with easily feigned nonchalance. Edward eyed him suspiciously for a moment, before his gaze returned to the ceiling, having quickly lost interest in his unwelcome visitor. Roy surveyed him mildly for almost a full minute, and was surprised to note that the blond did not even blink in that space of time. It seemed as though he had completely disconnected himself from his surroundings.

"Edward?" he asked softly.

When the boy did not respond, he sighed impatiently, and allowed his body to slouch against the back of his chair. Roy Mustang had the patience of a Saint when required. He had learned early on in his career that in order to make any progress with people he was interrogating, he would have to allow them time before they elected to trust him. Unfortunately, these circumstances were the furthest from normal, and Roy's tolerance was quickly deteriorating.

"Edward," he repeated, his tone noticeably sharper. "Don't pretend you can't hear me when we both know damn well that you can."

He cursed quietly underneath his breath when the blond did not even bother to acknowledge him, and exhaled through gritted teeth. This was going nowhere, and it was going there quickly. Somehow, he was getting the impression that he could bellow down the child's ear until his voice cracked and broke, and Edward would still not so much as meet his gaze. He had hoped it wouldn't come to this, but he was quick to realize that he would have to employ a different tactic.

Glancing quickly at the glass panel that was set into the door, allowing a perfect view of the hallway beyond, and ensuring that nobody was watching his interrogation, Roy swiftly got to his feet, and had crossed the gap between himself and Edward in several paces. Stooping down, he gripped the child's shoulders with both hands, momentarily surprised by the cool metal of his prosthetic limb, and crashed his lips to his.

The effect was immediate. Their lips had barely touched before Roy was stumbling backwards, clutching his injured jaw, and was relieved to note that Edward's head had turned, fiery amber eyes gazing back into his with nothing short of hatred. His left hand was clenched into a fist at his side, and a bruise was already beginning to form on his fourth knuckle.

"Bastard," he snarled, and Roy sensed that he was being addressed rather than insulted. "Don't touch me."

"Don't ignore me and I won't have to." he replied coolly, dropping back into his chair and interlocking his fingers upon his lap once again.

The hostility abandoned Edward's eyes, and he simply sighed, averting his gaze to highly polished floor. "Why are you here?"

Roy struggled to conceal his surprise as the child spoke again. His voice was weaker than it had been a week ago, and if he dared to peer closer, he could clearly see his eyes were bloodshot and heavily shadowed. He was the living embodiment of desperation, and Roy's heart ached for him. Were it not for the threat of another strike to the face, he would already have wrapped his arms around him, in the hope of offering some form of comfort.

"I need answers, Edward," he said, troubling to keep the impatience from his tone. "I haven't slept in months because every time I try, I dream about you. Last time we met you talked about something called the Gate-"

"Why the Hell should I tell you anything?" the boy interrupted coldly. "For all I know you're just like them, trying to figure out how delusional I really am," he paused thoughtfully. "What have you been dreaming?"

"That's not how it works, is it Edward?" Roy raised an eyebrow, unaware that he was speaking at all. "What about Equivalent Exchange?"

Instantly, his head shot up and he stared at the Chief Inspector in alarm. Though Roy had no idea what he had just said, he was certain that he was correct, and he had struck a nerve within the blond. Averting his gaze once again, Edward nodded slowly.

"Alright," he said. "The Gate is what separates this world from the world I'm from, called Amestris. I've seen a lot of familiar faces here. Those three guards you saw: Havoc, Fuery and Armstrong, they're identical to three soldiers from the other side," he laughed bitterly. "And there's another you too, Colonel."

Roy did not even attempt to hide his confusion as he processed this new information. "So you're telling me I'm not the one in my dreams, but this...other Roy is?"

"Equivalent Exchange, Mustang." Edward said simply.

It was Roy's turn to find the floor of sudden interest. "There was a park," he said quietly. "You didn't want to talk. Matter of fact, you looked like you hated me," his heart pounded beneath his ribcage as he contemplated what he was certain no one ought to know. Edward's rapidly darkening expression passed unnoticed. "I...I kissed you."

With a vicious snarl, Edward sprung from his chair, forgetting completely about the shackle around his right wrist. He could manage only a hunched standing position before he collapsed to his knees, dragging the chair with him and creating a resounding, ear-splitting _crash_.

"You son-of-a-bitch!" he bellowed, seemingly unaffected by his less than dignified position. "I was just a game to you! Nothing like a good challenge, right Colonel? I'm sure it was great fun talking yourself into the bed of a goddamn _child_!"

Roy's jaw dropped, and he stared at him, bewildered. "What? Edward, I didn't-"

Blinded by his rage, Edward did not even hear him. "You fed me all that _bullshit_, and I actually believed you!" he roared. "You'll never change!"

Roy only vaguely acknowledged the door opening, and the blond doctor he recognized from before: Havoc entered the room, apparently having been alerted by his shouts. He observed the scene for a moment before sighing, and crossing the room. Within seconds the shackle was unlocked, and he picked the child up without much difficulty, holding both of his arms to prevent him from lashing out again.

"Sorry," he directed this at Roy. "He'll be in Isolation for about a month for this."

With that, he carried the screaming and writhing blond from the room, and Roy simply stared after them, stunned into silence. He had no idea if what Edward had said was the truth, but an uncomfortable knot in the pit of his stomach was informing him that he was every bit as despicable as he was accused. Only then did he realize that he had clenched his fists so tightly that his knuckles had whitened, and he was shaking once more as adrenalin flowed through his veins.

He bit down hard on his bottom lip. If he _was_ telling the truth, then there had to be some connection between himself and the Roy from this 'Amestris'. If only he could break it, perhaps he could finally rest. He desperately needed more information, but he couldn't wait a month without losing the fragile, dwindling amount of sanity that he currently possessed. It was the only sane choice he could make.

Drawing breath sharply, he got to his feet and swept from the room, breaking into a sprint the instant the doors of the asylum closed behind him. He had made up his mind. Only by losing everything he had given his heart and soul to create could he gain what he craved. Wasn't that Equivalent Exchange, after all?


	5. End Of The Line

I am an absolute arse, I know. Truth is, I just haven't had any motivation for this and Conflicted just lately, and I've been putting it off and putting it off, and...yeah, now, here it is, after, God, what is it? A very very long time? Enjoy (if you don't hate me too much) !

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Fullmetal Alchemist, or it's characters. I think I own about five things, and one of them is an evil cat. Even these pants I'm wearing right at this very moment are not mine. But I do like them. A lot.

* * *

Maes sighed as he drew an X across the date of Sunday, February 14, marking almost two weeks since his partner had been locked in the study, poring over dusty volumes and countless websites. Maes had only seen him emerge three times, disheveled and exhausted in that space of time, and even then they had not exchanged so much as a sentence. All he did was storm into the kitchen, grab a bottle of Scotch and a slice or two of steadily molding bread, before returning to his sanctuary. He had knocked, called to him that he was making dinner, or that he had gone to the store and rented his favorite movie, but even that could not draw words from his lips. Eventually, he had no choice but to accept the silence, and continue as though everything were normal.

He was sitting at the table, absently twirling a fork in the index and middle fingers of his right hand, when he caught the sound of a door unlocking, and a set of footsteps heading in his direction. They stopped abruptly in the doorway, and Maes knew immediately that his gaze had fallen to the plate on the other side of the table, the one that he always set, always filled with whatever he had cooked that day, but had never once even been touched. A moment later, the footsteps drew closer, crossing the room, and Roy dropped into his chair, staring down at his plate as though he had never seen such food before.

"You must be hungry," Maes said flatly. "I haven't seen you eat anything but stale bread since you were discharged."

"I'm fine." Roy replied, in exactly the same tone of voice.

"When was the last time you left the house? You're looking pale."

Narrowing his eyes, Roy defiantly speared a Brussels sprout on the end of his fork, and shoved it into his mouth, chewing almost violently without taking his eyes from his companion. He grimaced at the taste, and quickly followed it with a miniscule piece of chicken, earning a disdainful glance from Maes, who quickly averted his gaze to ensure that his concern would pass unnoticed. Roy obviously didn't need an excuse to start a fight over something ridiculous.

"There, see?" Roy dropped his cutlery, and got to his feet. "Fine."

"Maybe you should get some sleep," Maes suggested tentatively. "Take a break for a couple of hours. It'll make things easier."

"No it won't!" Roy snarled, causing the man sitting across from him to flinch. "I have t- goddamnit Maes, don't talk about what you don't fucking understand, okay?"

With that, the taller figure turned abruptly on his heel, and swept from the room, leaving Maes sitting at the small table in silence, his eyes lightly closed as he allowed the harsh words to wrap themselves around his mind, and seem to suffocate it. Roy had never spoken to him in such a manner before. He feigned arrogance, to ensure that nobody dared to peer closer, to see what lay behind his eyes, but that pure vehemence was almost frightening.

He looked up sharply as the sound of rapidly flowing water reached his ears, and he came to the quick conclusion that Roy had opted to take a quick shower, before returning to whatever it was that had become his obsession. Unaware that he was moving at all, Maes got to his feet, and padded down the hallway, troubling to keep his footsteps as silent as he was capable of. Glancing back at the door that led to the bathroom, he slipped into the study, and closed the door behind him.

The carpet was not even visible beneath innumerable stacks of paper, some of them covered in Roy's own haphazard scrawl, others printed from the computer, or even torn from books, their covers now lying forlornly in the garbage. His gaze did not linger upon these as he made his way across the room, though with each glance, he realized the same name kept appearing on almost every page, complete with pictures of a blond teenager he had never seen before.

Dropping into the chair in front of the computer, Maes pushed several sheets of paper aside, each revealing a different portion of a blueprint, marked with arrows and words that he recognized as Roy's handwriting. Upon the monitor itself was a newspaper article entitled 'Child Jailed For Vicious Attack On His Own Family' alongside another picture of that unfamiliar blond. Shifting another stack of papers from the chair, these ones containing the recurring theme of some lunatic asylum Maes had never heard of, he took a seat, and began to read the article.

_"In the early hours of this morning, a child was found to have brutally murdered his own mother in the family home. Ten year old Edward Elric was discovered missing two limbs, which doctors believe he removed, himself, beside the body of his mother, Trisha Elric, who seemed to have been dead for two days before the police were called. Edward is currently in the hospital, awaiting a test of his mental health, and it has also been rumoured that he is to have automail surgery to replace his limbs. Edward's brother, Alphonse, 9, has not been found."_

Maes did not realize his jaw had become slack in his horror, or that his eyes had widened to an almost comical proportion. Reaching the end of the article, he minimized it, swallowing hard in an attempt to dislodge the lump that had formed in his throat, and turned around, deciding that he should return to some other part of the house before Roy discovered him in the forbidden territory of his study.

He had barely got to his feet, when he spotted him. He was standing in the doorway, his arms folded across his chest in annoyance, and his eyebrows were raised as though in expectation of a response. Up until this very moment, Maes had believed it impossible that anybody could look intimidating wearing nothing but a towel around their waist, but as he often did, Roy had just proved him wrong.

"I was worried," he said softly. "You've been stuck in here for so long, and I just wanted to know what was on your mind. I thought maybe I could help."

"You can't." Roy replied, though his tone was slightly less hostile than what he had become accustomed to.

Encouraged, Maes continued. "You should've said something, Roy. If I'd have known you were working on a case..."

"A case?" Roy stared at him for a moment, before his gaze flickered towards the precariously leaning pile of papers on his desk, and he suddenly understood. "Oh. That."

Maes sighed heavily, recognizing what he believed to be Roy's usual affection of indifference when it came to things that troubled him. He understood that being the Chief Inspector of the police force that saw the most horrific crime in the country had to take its toll sooner or later, but sometimes he wished that his companion would find a better way to handle his demons than to pretend they didn't exist. He spent so much of his time denying his emotions that Maes found himself wondering if he actually felt anything at all.

"Yes, that," he said, his eyes wide with concern. "If it's bothering you, why don't you talk to me?"

"Why would you want to hear about some brat who killed his parents?" Roy asked flatly, his expression that same aggravating disinterest. "Not exactly good table conversation, is it?"

Before he could prevent it, Maes' eyes flickered with anger, and he spat out, "But better than none at all, Roy."

Without waiting for a response, since he was certain he would not receive one, Maes swept from the room. He didn't slam the door, his steps were light as always, but Roy sensed his rage, and immediately felt the guilt welling in the pit of his stomach. He loved Maes, he was certain he did. But if he didn't figure out what was happening to him, it was going to drive him insane. If he had to be brutally honest with himself (after all, he was the only person he felt he could be truthful with) he knew that he would rather end it now, like this, than allow Maes to see what he would have to do.

Raking a hand through his ebony hair, and feeling the effects of almost two weeks with a meagre amount of food, and hardly any sleep at all for the first time, he made his way to the computer, and threw himself down into his chair with a loud sigh. All he had for comfort was the knowledge that this would soon be over; he was only days away from making his move and having his sanity restored, and it was that thought that encouraged him to pick up the blueprints, and examine them once again.

He couldn't say he was surprised when he heard the front door opening and closing several hours later, and understood immediately that Maes wasn't coming back. He couldn't blame him either, after the way he had treated him as of late. But what he could say was that he hadn't expected it to hurt this much.

--

Roy had been staring at the scarlet numbers on his clock/radio for exactly four hours and twenty-six minutes. He hadn't been expecting sleep to claim him, not when his insides were writhing so violently, and his hands were shaking as his mind conjured every possible way his grand master plan could go awry. What didn't help the situation at all was that every few minutes he would turn, and remind himself of that huge, empty space where Maes once lay, and that familiar guilt would make itself known once again.

The numbers changed, flickering to 07:00 and right on cue, the radio presenter, who Roy often thought was much too enthusiastic at such an hour, began speaking at a volume that made him flinch. Sighing, he wrenched the covers free of his pathetically thin and pallid body, and made his way into the kitchen for his regulation four cups of coffee. He'd be needing all the strength he possessed today, after all.

The silence that engulfed him was less than comfortable. With the absence of that irritating woman from the radio, his conscience decided that it would make its move, speaking to him as it always did, in a voice that sounded exactly like Maes'.

"_Roy, what're you doing?_" it asked, a slightly taunting hint to its tone. "_You're gonna give up everything you have for that kid?_"

"Yes, I am," he replied aloud, deciding that, since he was alone, there was no one to care that he was having a conversation with himself. "And I don't need your approval."

"_Look, just think about this for a moment, will you? Say the first part goes okay. Say you meet him, he tells you everything, and the dreams go away. Then what?_"

Roy didn't speak. Instead, he raised his third cup to his lips and drained it, despite how it scorched his throat, his expression impassive as always. Placing it back on the table, he gave the faintest of smiles, for reasons even he wasn't aware of, and his conscience gave an audible sigh.

"_You don't know, do you?_"

"I don't have a fucking clue," he admitted, almost cheerfully. "But I don't care, either. If I can stop this, then it'll all be worth it."

"_So sure? Do you honestly think they'll let you back into the police force after this? D'you think Maes will ever look at you the same again?_"

Smiling politely, Roy got to his feet to boil the kettle once again and said, quite happily, "Shut up."

It didn't, and he wasn't expecting it to. If anything, that familiar voice actually increased a few decibels in its frantic attempt to change his mind, and Roy had his teeth grit until they were splintering beneath the pressure as he fought to ignore it. Humming softly to himself in some attempt to banish his anxiety, he clambered into the shower the instant he had poured his final coffee down his throat, and allowed the sound of the running water to drown out the incessant whining of his own personal voice of reason.

He emerged several minutes later, tiny droplets of water cascading from his body, which he quickly brushed away as though they were poisoning him. Walking into his bedroom, he lazily pulled on a black shirt and tight black pants, and once he was fully clothed, he turned to glance at himself in the mirror. Automatically he reached up to further tousle his hair, but stopped himself before he even touched it, resisting the urge to laugh. It wasn't as though his appearance mattered, not any more. No one was going to say, "Oh, he did terrible things, but his hair looked great."

Sighing, he raked a hand through it anyway almost out of habit, throwing his reflection a filthy glare as he did so, and turned towards the door. He drew a deep breath, exhaling it slowly through his teeth, before he began to walk, uncomfortably aware of his heart pounding erratically beneath his ribcage, growing faster, more frantic with each step he took.

It was time.

--

The flashing lights were agony to eyes that had not closed for more than a minute in the past two weeks, but still, Roy continued to watch them. It was almost amusing how quickly pandemonium had settled in once he had been recognized, standing atop one of the tallest buildings in the city, and wondering to himself how long it would take before he hit the ground. Two seconds? Three? Would tomorrow come if he took that final step?

The constant questions caused the pounding that had taken up residence in his head to increase until it seemed as though his skull was about to split in two, so he attempted to clear his mind of all thought,. This would have been a simple task, were it not for the man with the megaphone fifteen stories below making things difficult. Absently holding his left foot over the ledge, Roy cursed him, and felt better for it.

"Roy! I know things have been hard for you, lately!" he glanced down apathetically, and almost smiled as he realized the irritating man with the megaphone was one of his colleagues who had never even spoken to him, before. "But this isn't the way! If you just come down, we can get you some help!"

"There's no point!" he screamed, continuing the act he had been drumming into himself for weeks. "It's not gonna get any better! This is the only way! Don't you dare try and stop me when you don't have any idea how I feel!"

"Roy!"

He winced, recognizing that voice immediately, and watched as Riza Hawkeye tore the megaphone from the man's hands, a raw and painful emotion in her eyes that he had never seen before. Usually, Riza was as guarded as him when it came to what lay behind the barrier she had built for herself, but now, like him, it seemed as though she had nothing to hide any more.

"Why are you trying so damn hard?!" he roared. "I don't deserve my goddamn, worthless life! Just leave me alone!"

"Roy..." her voice cracked, but she still forced herself to continue. "There are people here who care about you. And if you do this, then...well, you'll be leaving behind a lot of broken hearts, to say the least."

He had to bite his tongue to prevent himself from saying anything other than the self-deprecating drivel he recalled from all of the "jumpers" he had dealt with in the past., but inside he couldn't help but wonder exactly who's heart he would be breaking if he didn't wake up. He averted his gaze to her once again, and felt a sudden piercing guilt as he saw a tear falling from her eye.

She was crying. For him, of all people. She was crying because she was afraid that he was going to jump, and she would never see him again. And what was he doing? Getting himself thrown into an asylum with a most likely insane sixteen year old he barely knew, hoping for an answer to the mystery that lay within his dreams. Maybe he really _was_ crazy.

It was in that moment when he finally came to his senses. It wasn't too late. He could back away from that ledge, try to salvage what was left of his career and his relationship, and forget all about Edward Elric. It was that simple. At least, he thought it was. He continued to think it until he took one step backward, _half_ a step, and suddenly the ledge disappeared.

_Everything_ disappeared in fact, except for a small boy with scarlet pupils, who was clutching a rifle in both hands. There was a fear in his eyes; a terror that Roy knew his own were mimicking. He couldn't understand why the boy looked afraid. He was the one with the gun, after all. All Roy was doing was holding a gloved hand aloft, poised as though he was about to snap his fingers, and what good could that possibly do?

The boy's eyes widened to a size that would've been amusing under any other circumstances. He raised his gun, his index finger clutching at the trigger, but before he could make another move, Roy snapped his fingers. To his utter shock, the room they were standing in burst into flames, consuming everything but their creator. Roy watched in horror, the boy's piercing screams attacking his ears, and the smell of charred flesh, clear as anything, filled his nostrils.

The pain in his head was suddenly unbearable. His lungs were refusing to draw any oxygen, as though in protest of what he had done. His vision blurred, his legs buckled, and then there was a strange sensation, one that seemed almost as though he was falling from a great distance, and the screams that resounded in his ears intensified.

Then, there was silence.

--

Roy's eyes flickered several times as he steadily withdrew himself from the fog that had overtaken his mind. His limbs felt heavier than normal, and reluctant to move any further than an inch, so he abandoned trying to move them, and instead decided the safest option was to decipher his whereabouts. Drawing his strength, he forced apart his eyelids once again, and was met with harsh florescent lighting that caused him to whimper.

"Give it a rest will ya, Colonel?" came a familiar voice from somewhere to his left. "They've given you so many drugs you're like a puppy. There's no point trying to move for at least another few hours."

"Ed...?" he groaned.

"Nice," he snickered softly. "And what's your name?"

"Roy Mustang," he answered obediently. "Where...where'm...?"

Gritting his teeth, he opened his eyes once again, and slowly, the figure of the small blond came into focus. He was facing him, his knees drawn to his chest, and as he watched, he was slowly withdrawing an IV from his flesh arm, wincing slightly as it slipped from his flesh. Sensing Roy's eyes were upon him finally, he glanced up, and gave a small grin that held no humor.

"Where d'you think?"

"I..." he blinked confusedly. "I made it...?"

Edward arched a brow at him, and shrugged. "If your objective was to end up in the loony bin then sure, you made it. They were worried about you. Havoc told me you'd been here for three weeks. I didn't believe it at first. I figured Colonel Bastard wouldn't let his smug ass end up somewhere like this, but after I got removed from Isolation after my little escapade with the wall..."

Roy's mind slowly drifted from consciousness once again, the slightest of smiles playing about his lips that drained his energy to maintain. The interrogation could wait until his body had healed. For now, all he wanted was sleep.


	6. In Loving Memory

Nope, you're not dreaming! Another update, and it didn't take three months! Yaaayy!

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist, Arakawa-sensei does. However, I do own my pants, today!

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Roy self-consciously tugged at the hem of his brand new, standard issue gray nightshirt, frowning in annoyance at how it failed to disguise the bandages that covered almost the entirety of his right leg. At least in the hospital wing, nobody but Edward could witness his injuries, and he was strapped to his bed and heavily medicated the majority of the time to prevent him from escaping. It had taken a month, a long month he had rarely been conscious for, but finally he had recovered enough to walk, and the doctors had rewarded his cooperation by allowing him to spend an hour of each day in the recreation room.

He was sitting in an uncomfortable, metal chair in the corner of the room, his knees drawn up to his chest, and his eyes focused upon a man who looked several years older than him, sitting in the middle of the floor, and talking animatedly to a cross-eyed stuffed bear. It looked as though it had once been blue, though was now a faded navy, and there was a deep gash in its side that was leaking stuffing all over the tiles. Beside him was a young girl, who seemed to be seriously considering whether or not the poor bear's insides were edible.

"So," Roy started at a voice from somewhere uncomfortably close to his ear, and whipped around to find himself faced with a man with amber eyes, ones that chilled his insides at how much they reminded him of Maes', and long, black hair pulled back in a braid. "You don't look the crazy type. What'd you do?"

Roy blinked. At first glance, he didn't exactly look the type either, until one took into account the smirk he was giving him. It was a cold, vicious smirk, revealing a set of strangely pointed teeth, and his eyes were narrowed slightly, in expectation of his response. Arching a brow, Roy glanced down at his hands, which were folded upon his lap, and noticed two circles tattooed onto his palms. They looked distinctive, and somewhat familiar, but for the life of him Roy couldn't work out what they signified.

He raised his head. "I-"

"Don't tell me," the man raised one of his hands to silence him, his voice a drawl that made the Chief Inspector (_ex_ Chief Inspector, he reminded himself firmly) shiver. "You're anorexic. You look like a skeleton."

"Thanks," Roy replied flatly, gritting his teeth. "But you're wrong."

"Hmm," he furrowed his brow. "I usually have a pretty good eye for people like you."

He reached out with a thin, pallid hand, and absently ran his fingers over the bandage that covered Roy's fractured wrist. Fighting for his usual indifference, Roy forced his expression to remain stoic, despite how the man's scrutinizing gaze was fixed upon him, leaving his guarded eyes for barely a second to examine the deep gash, and bruises in various stages of healing upon his cheek.

His eyes flickering with sudden recognition, he snapped his fingers, and Roy flinched. "You're a jumper."

"Hey, Kimbley!" both of them looked up sharply, and found the blond doctor Roy had met on several occasions leaning against the door frame, a toothpick in the corner of his mouth. "The new guy isn't interested. It's time for your meds anyway, so why don't you get your ass up?"

"Alright, Jean," Kimbley sighed, getting to his feet and stretching until several of his bones cracked. He turned back to Roy, and gave him that smirk again. "I'll come find you. I'm not done with you, yet."

He had barely taken three steps when both of his arms were grasped by two doctors Roy did not recognize, and he was marched forcefully from the room. Roy didn't fail to notice that his steps were deliberately slow, and he called to several of the inmates as he passed them, his smirk unfaltering. Havoc, remaining in his position beside the door rolled his eyes, a cold glint flickering beneath the crystal hue, and Roy understood its purpose without even having to think.

Kimbley longed for control. He could sense it when their gazes met: a barely contained lust for dominance that caused uncomfortable shivers to race down his spine, and his insides to writhe with nausea. In a place like this, he was exactly as pathetic as everybody else, treated with the same indifference that Roy recalled practicing for hours in front of his bathroom mirror during his first two years on the force, and it must have been steadily destroying him to submit.

Havoc waited until he was safely out of the vicinity, before he signalled to another of the doctors to take his place with a small flick of his left hand, and walked casually over to the corner Roy was occupying. His eyes narrowed slightly, Roy examined him out of the corner of his eye as he approached, noticing how his toothpick snapped into several pieces beneath gritted teeth, and fractured his usual relaxed demeanor. He took Kimbley's vacated seat beside the raven-haired man, and removed the sharp pieces of wood from his mouth with a grimace.

"You'll get used to him, Chief," he said softly. "You can't blame him for being interested, though. There's a lot of rumors going 'round about you."

Roy smiled, though it held no humor. He had respected this man from the moment he had first seen him, despite the fact that their first encounter had involved the overpowering, and medicating of a sixteen year old. His eyes lacked the usual condescending glimmer, and his easy-going crooked smirk was not false. Matter of fact, he was the only doctor in the entire building who seemed to recall the humanity of the hospital's patients.

"Did you come here to interrogate me, Doc?" he asked, his gaze fixed upon his hands.

"Honestly?" Havoc smiled, rifling through his pockets for another toothpick. "I've got twenty minutes 'till my next break, and I need a cigarette. I figured talking to you would pass the time quicker."

Glancing up sharply, Roy stared at him for a moment, before he laughed. His voice was hoarse from disuse and the various medicinal liquids he had been forced to ingest, and he flinched at the sound. "Thanks. I didn't think anyone would ever talk to me like a human again."

Havoc shrugged, affecting nonchalance. "That whackjob was right about one thing," he met Roy's gaze, his eyes piercing, and a concerned frown playing about his lips. "What the Hell are you doing here?"

As though on cue, there came an enormous, resounding _crash_ from behind one of the many doors that led to the various cell blocks, and an indignant scream of, "Get your damn hands off me!" Roy started, staring at his blond companion in alarm, which only intensified as he realized he was smiling cheerlessly, and rolling his eyes towards the ceiling in desperation. He turned to the other occupants of the "Rec Room" as it was known, and was stunned to see that none of them had even bothered to look up.

Giving a sympathetic smile, Havoc said simply, "Edward."

The door was thrown open, and another doctor entered the room, his arms full of screaming and writhing blond, who seemed to be doing his utmost to wrap his prosthetic hand around his throat, and throttle him with it. He grimaced, groaning quietly as the teenager settled for extricating his left leg from the tangle of limbs, and kicking him hard in the shin, earning a distinct crack of metal colliding with bone.

"Havoc!" he snarled, unceremoniously dropping him to the tiled floor. "Can you do something about this?!"

The blond doctor raised his hands in resignation, but couldn't prevent the smirk that crossed his lips. "Maybe if you let him walk on his own, he'll stop trying to kill you." at the doctor's sour glare, Havoc grinned. "We switched his meds. He'll be like a kitten once they start kicking in. What more d'you want?"

Barely aware of his own movement, Roy leaped to his feet, and within seconds had crossed the room, and grasped the collar of the blond's shirt. "We have to talk."

"Hey! Asshole!" he snarled, drawing back his head and furiously attempting to break free of his vice-like grip. "Lemme go!"

He remained silent, focusing upon finding somewhere they would not be overheard, and settled for the corner opposite the one he had been sitting in earlier. Drawing his energy, he managed to throw the blond into another of those damned metal chairs, despite his shrieks of protest, and collapse into the one beside him, breathing heavily in sudden exhaustion. Why the Hell did metal have to be so heavy, anyway?

"We have to talk, Edward," he repeated sharply. "I've been here for a damn month, and I'm not waiting any longer."

Edward tilted his head innocently to one side, his brow furrowed in confusion, before, to Roy's surprise, he gave a smile that was more enthusiastic than he believed him capable of, his amber eyes glittering. '"Kay!" he rested his head upon his prosthetic hand, and fixed his attention upon him. "What d'you wanna talk about?"

"Don't play stupid with me," he snapped, more impatiently than he had intended. "You, the Gate. The whole reason I'm here is because I have to know, and you're the only person who can tell me!" exhaling heavily, he closed his eyes, forcing himself to relax. "So?"

Edward blinked. "What the Hell are you talking about?"

"Edward," Roy grit his teeth. "I don't think you understand. I jumped off a goddamn building, okay? I am a cop, stuck here in the fucking nuthouse, and the least you could do is give me some answers!!"

The blond flinched away as his tone grew more hostile with his anger, until he was in danger of falling over backwards. Roy opened his eyes once again, allowing his rage to flicker through them, though it faltered the instant he caught the fear in the young blond. Sighing guiltily, he dropped his gaze, folding his hands in his lap, and forced himself to become calm once again.

"Don't do this to me," he whispered. "I'm not in the mood for games."

"Games?" he reiterated, stunned. "Who _are_ you? And who the Hell do you think I am?!"

Roy's expression suddenly mirrored his perfectly. "You're-" he shook his head, looking bewildered. "Are you telling me you have no idea who I am?"

Allowing a bemused smile to play about his lips, Edward shook his head. "Should I? I mean, you're new here, right? Hell, nobody knows who you are," he furrowed his brow again. "Wait...then why do you know who I am? We haven't met before, have we?"

Roy stared at him in horror, before he allowed his head to fall into his hands, and he moaned pitifully. "Oh God, why me?" he whimpered. "Why do these things _always_ happen to me?"

Edward smiled, in what he believed to be a comforting manner, and absently patted his head. "The food's bad."

In response, Roy simply groaned.

--

Roy awoke the next morning as suddenly and sharply as though somebody was shaking him. It took several seconds for him to realize that somebody actually _was_ shaking him, and even longer to determine that the unkempt blond hair, and strong hands clutching at his shoulders belonged to Havoc. He groaned quietly, unwilling to open his eyes and allow the harsh florescent lighting to flood them, and he attempted to roll over onto his side.

"C'mon, you've got your first meeting with your shrink today," he said loudly, earning a wince. "You don't wanna be late."

"Go 'waaaay..." he whimpered, closing his eyes tighter.

Havoc sighed, and released his shoulders. "Alright. I'll go get the guards, and they won't be anywhere near as lenient as I am."

The dark-haired man was silent, and, rolling his eyes, Havoc turned to alert whoever was on duty that day to the situation. Before he could take so much as a step, he felt a hand around his wrist, clenching tightly and preventing him from moving any further. Sighing, he turned around once again, and found a pair of dark eyes gazing despairingly back into his own.

"You'd better let go, Chief," he said quietly. "Or else you'll get your ass sent to Isolation. Makes this place look like a goddamn condo."

"Havoc," he murmured, not averting his gaze in the slightest. "I have to ask you something, and then I'll let go. Okay?"

Sighing, as though certain this wasn't going to work, Havoc nodded. "What is it?"

"Edward," he said. "When I talked to him yesterday, he had no idea who I was, and you know we'd met before," he sighed heavily. "You said you'd changed his meds..."

Havoc eyed him suspiciously for a moment, before nodding once again. "He was unconscious for a while after the first dose. They said he'd probably suffer some form of amnesia."

Roy turned a delicate shade of gray, his hand shaking slightly. "His memory will come back though...right?"

Havoc shrugged, and for the first time, Roy wanted to punch him for being so nonchalant about every possible situation. "Could take a while. It might not even come back at all. They don't have a clue," sensing his distraction, he wrenched himself free of his patient's grasp, and stepped backwards. "C'mon. Time for your shower."

Roy slipped from his bed, massaging the pain in his back with a grimace, and kept his gaze focused upon the floor as he followed Havoc towards the showers, his mind reeling, and replaying the conversation he had just had over and over until it became almost physically painful. He sighed heavily as he stood beneath the faucet, his head resting against the cold, tiled wall, his eyes lightly closed, and silently he asked himself what the Hell he was going to do now.

Even his conscience had no answer.


	7. An Unfamiliar Body

Did this take three months? I forget... I would've had it finished last night, but I'd had too much red wine and I felt ill. So here it is today!

**Spoiler:** This chapter contains spoilers for episode 39. If you haven't seen it, the spoiler-y part is all in _Italics_ so you can skip that if you wish.

**Warning: **The _Italic _part also has a...what d'you call it around here? A lime? Either way there's some yaoi going on, so if you don't like that, just skip the part that's all in _Italics_.

**And Finally, A Disclaimer: **I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist: that would be Arakawa-sensei. However, I bought two pairs of Billie pants (reference only Moo-chan will get) on Thursday. Why do all my disclaimers seem to involve pants? Oh well...

* * *

Roy's eyes were closed, his hearing drowned by the freezing water that cascaded upon his flesh. He didn't even notice he was the last of the E Block inmates until he was spitting blood from his mouth as two pairs of hands grasped both of his wrists, and another forced his face into the tiled wall he had been leaning against for a good half hour. He was turned around, still held firmly in position, and he tried in vain to focus upon his attackers through the blood that obscured his vision. The next punch bruised his eye; the second determined to break his nose, though he never once gave them the satisfaction of responding.

After all, it wasn't like he was surprised. Sitting in the Rec Room yesterday, he had noticed too many pairs of familiar eyes. Too many lips that had swore revenge as he did his part in sentencing them. He had lain in his bed that night wondering when they were going to come for him, and they did not disappoint. They chose the moment when he was defenseless, unguarded and powerless to resist. Clinically insane, perhaps, but not stupid.

As suddenly as they had begun, the blows receded, and his new friends retreated to their respective faucets to wash the blood from their hands. Roy let out a shuddering breath, and spat a copious amount of blood to the floor, watching in fascination as it twisted and curled its way down the drain, leaving no trace that anything had even happened. He raised a hand to his face, and gently prodded his cheek, grimacing as the new bruise gave a sharp twinge of pain in protest.

He sighed, turning once more to the wall, and raking his hands through his hair, as though the Asylum actually provided shampoo. It figured they would go for his face: the one thing about himself that he didn't despise. There was once a time when he could bring women and men alike to their knees with just the right smile, but that, like everything else, had disappeared the moment he had set foot in this place. He had given up everything, and he was still no closer to the truth. _Maybe_, a skeptical voice in the back of his head started up. _There is no Truth_.

He caught the shuffling of twenty or so once-white nightgowns from behind him, and quickly calculated that the inmates of G Block must have arrived. If he didn't want a beating from them, too, he would do well to leave. Hastily wiping a stray sliver of blood from the wall, he turned around and walked to where the towels were kept, wrapping one around his waist, and keeping watch on the latest additions to the showers, just in case. He had just decided they meant him no harm, when he caught the glimmer of metal from the corner of his eye, and glanced up to find a sleep-deprived Edward as part of the group, his eyes widening as he spotted his condition.

"Bastard!" he hissed, frowning at the purple bruising on his face. "What the Hell did they do to you?!"

"Nothing," he muttered sullenly, making to leave for the room where the nightgowns were kept. He froze. "Edward?"

The blond rolled his eyes in irritation. "Yes, Edward. How many kids with automail d'you think are around here?"

Roy turned slowly, his eyes narrowed in confused suspicion. "You know who I am?"

"It's hard to forget," he replied, his teeth grit. "What's wrong with you, anyway? You look like a ghost. A very bruised ghost, but-" he cut himself off, and suddenly started examining Roy's eyes. "They haven't been giving you Lanicaine, have they? Damnit, I don't even think it's legal, but they'll try just about anything on the people in here. They don't even care if"

"Fullmetal, shut your damn mouth!" the dark-haired man interrupted loudly, and regretted it before the words had even fully left his mouth.

It didn't help that he had no idea _why_he'd just referred to him as "Fullmetal", though it seemed to have some sort of significance to him, as he took a step backwards, his amber eyes flickering with a, by now familiar hostility. He winced. Obviously he had just said something that only the "other Roy" should know, and Edward wasn't taking it particularly well. Just as he thought, having an alter-ego from a parallel universe was nothing but trouble.

"Fine," he hissed, in a low growl that was almost feral. "You're on your own. And don't think I'm telling you anything about the other side," he gave a cruel smile. "Like Ishbal."

_Ishbal_... The word struck a chord within him, creating a sudden guilty pit in his stomach. He couldn't explain it, but he knew instinctively that the word had something to do with the boy he had seen, standing atop that building. The boy with the scarlet eyes... Edward seemed to realize that his words had the desired effect, as he turned and walked towards the showers, though he had barely taken a step before Roy had latched onto his prosthetic arm.

"Ed," he said softly. "Yesterday, you didn't know who I was."

He stopped dead, his entire body going rigid. He looked over his shoulder at the elder man, and Roy's heart ached as he saw the fear in his eyes. "Did I seem...different to you?" he asked tentatively.

Sensing his vulnerability, Roy made the effort to keep his temper under control. "A little," he murmured. "You looked..." he fought with his mind for the right words. "Like a kid. Like you were happy, because you didn't really understand what was going on."

Edward swallowed hard. "You know why I'm here, don't you?" he said quietly. "They said I killed my mom."

"I know." Roy replied, dreading what he was about to tell him.

"I didn't do it, Mustang," he whispered. "When I came through the Gate...my body, it...it found the Edward from this side, and...I woke up..." he made a small, choking noise, and fell silent.

Roy blinked. "What?!"

"This isn't my body!" Edward bellowed, causing the shower's other occupants to stare at them in alarm. "It's his! And I'm not strong enough to...I can't..."

Roy just stared at him. He looked so adamant. He really believed there was truth in what he was saying, and all Roy could see was the most elaborate explanation of schizophrenia he had ever come across in his life. He suddenly felt sick. If Edward was a schizophrenic, then all of this could just be a lie his mind had conjured for him. He could be standing here with a hundred people who wanted him dead for _nothing_.

He stepped backwards, shaking his head to clear it. "You're insane," he whispered. "You don't actually _believe_ this shit, do you?"

"Yeah, I do," he replied defiantly. "Because it's the truth!"

"Edward, be logical!" he snapped. "The Gate, this parallel universe, taking over somebody's body?! That's not possible! None of it is!"

"Neither's Alchemy," he said softly, though the spite in his voice did not fade. "But explain how you killed so many people just by snapping your fingers," he gave a humorless smile as Roy's flesh blanched. "Explain why you called me Fullmetal, when the only person who ever insisted on doing that was Colonel Roy Mustang," he clenched his fists. "Explain why you look just like him. Explain why you kissed me!"

"I don't know!" he snarled, familiar anger rising to the surface, despite his best efforts at keeping it contained. "I don't know, but I'm not gonna take your word for it when you don't even know what's real and what isn't! Maybe you're here for a reason, Fullmetal! Ever thought about that?!"

Roy hated the fleeting sense of satisfaction as he saw the hurt in Edward's eyes, rather than that maddening defiance. He hated how he turned away and stormed out of the small, tiled room, leaving him standing alone, bewildered and rejected by the only person he thought understood him. He sighed, closing his eyes as he pulled on his clothes. Sometimes, he hated his conscience.

"There you are, Chief," Havoc entered the room, grinning at him around his latest toothpick. "I thought you'd dr-" he cut himself off as he caught sight of the bruising on his face. "Shit."

"Had it coming." Roy shrugged, pulling his nightgown over his head.

Havoc shook his head despairingly. "You'd better hurry. You're already late for your meeting with Dr. Hawkeye."

Roy stared at him for a moment. There was another name that sounded so familiar, but it had nothing to do with his colleague of the same name. No, when he thought of it, he saw a woman with dark eyes, blond hair drawn up to keep it away from her face, and clad in a military uniform. He groaned, gently massaging his temples with his fingertips. He had to stop thinking about Edward. He was criminally insane, and getting himself caught up in his fantasies wasn't going to help him get out of there any time soon. All he could do was keep his head down, and hope the doctors could "cure" him so he could return to his life.

Even so, as he followed Havoc towards the doctor's office, he couldn't get the blond's hurt expression out of his mind.

--

_Roy was furious. At least, that was how it seemed to the small blond he was shoving through the door of his office. He stumbled several steps into the room, almost hitting one of the two couches in front of the desk, and whipped around just in time to see the elder man locking the door behind them. He narrowed his eyes in annoyance, and determinedly held his ground as the Colonel walked towards him._

_"You want to explain this to me, Fullmetal?" he asked sharply._

_"What's to explain, Colonel?" Edward replied, mimicking his tone. "I'm going to Liore."_

_The Colonel felt a low growl rising in his throat, one that was almost inhuman, and managed to repress it. The kid was stubborn, he'd give him that. Sometimes, like now, it gave him a migraine, and others it was one of the things he loved most about the arrogant little brat. He shook his head. Now was not the time to let his infatuation get the better of him._

_Quickly stepping forward, he grabbed hold of Edward's shoulders before he even knew what was happening, and gripped them tight, his eyes flickering with anger. "This is not your fight, Fullmetal."_

_"Scar's going to sacrifice all those people to make the Philosopher's Stone," the blond teenager snapped. "So it is my fight, Mustang."_

_"And if you get killed?" Mustang said softly, becoming aware of what he'd said a split-second later, and adding, "That's a lot of paperwork if your subordinate dies doing your job."_

_Edward smirked coldly. "Good. Then I'll finally be away from you."_

_Roy might've been hurt by that comment, had he not noticed the playful glint in the Fullmetal Alchemist's eyes, and he simply smirked. Tilting his head to one side, he relinquished his grip on the thin shoulders, and instead used the palms of his hands to push him sharply backwards, where he fell over the arm of the couch, and collapsed against the cushions._

_Roy looked down at him, his smirk unfaltering. "I guess I'd better say goodbye now, then."_

_Edward raised his eyebrows questioningly, and in response, Roy stooped down, resting his hand against his young lover's jaw, his usually cold eyes soft with compassion. Edward glanced at the hand that captured his face with apprehension, and averted his gaze to the elder man's eyes. A split-second later, he sat up bolt-upright, and wrapped his arms around his neck, crashing his lips to his._

_As always, Roy was quick to take control, biting at his bottom lip and forcing his tongue into his mouth as he gasped silently. His fingernails absently scratched at his cheek, his other hand sliding over his tight black shirt, and pulling the familiar scarlet coat from his shoulders. He knew how vulnerable the teenager felt without that thing, and as he tensed, he pushed him backwards once again, tugging impatiently at the buckle of his belt._

_Edward drew a sharp breath as his leather pants hit the carpet along with his boxers, leaving him feeling much more exposed than he was comfortable with, even...especially in front of the Colonel. Of course, that, and any other thought he might have had disappeared on the way to his lips as Roy leaned forward and took his already half-hard member into his mouth, earning a sharp, choked gasp._

_With ease that suggested he had done this a thousand times before, he slid his tongue over the entirety of his length and took him in fully, tilting back his head until he felt him hit the back of his throat. He slipped his hands behind his thighs and parted them, his fingernails clutching his pallid flesh tight enough to draw blood. _

_Edward instinctively arched his hips, his eyes closing tightly, and he clapped a hand over his mouth to keep at bay any sound he might have been tempted to make., flushing scarlet with humiliation. Roy, watching him amusedly, reached up in one, swift movement and pulled his hand away, deliberately grazing his teeth against him. He had to fight back a smirk as the teen threw back his head and moaned, his hands latching onto whatever they could find, which happened to be several dark locks of Roy's hair._

_He groaned softly at the sudden, sharp pain, though didn't let it deter him from the writhing blond he still had pinned to the couch, who was finding it increasingly difficult to keep his traitorous body under control. Roy's eyes never once left him as his breathing became harsh, his muscles tensing uncomfortably, and he cried out something unintelligible as he came, something that could have been Roy's own name._

_Swallowing, Roy pulled away and got to his feet, nonchalantly straightening his collar as though nothing had happened. He looked down at the blond, dark eyes scrutinizing his every movement; how his harsh gasps of breath lessened, and his pounding heart steadily returned to its normal rate. He smirked faintly to himself, perfectly aware that he could not see. He wouldn't give up that picture for anything. _

_"Goodbye, Edward."_

_The teenager's eyes opened sharply at the elder man spoke, though he had already turned away. With the memory still fresh in his mind, as he was certain it would always be, he left the room, leaving in his wake a small, bewildered boy, with hurt in his eyes that surfaced each and every time he thought about the man who could so easily use him, fully expecting that they would never meet again._

_Drawing himself up onto shaking legs, Edward reached for his clothes, and sincerely hoped they wouldn't. _

Roy gasped as he threw himself upright, and stared around in alarm, his hand rising to his chest to feel his heart hammering against his ribcage. He relaxed as he recognized the bars of his cell, and the sensation of a few hundred springs in his back, but only slightly. Groaning, he fell back against his pillow and closed his eyes once again.

Edward... He knew it had only been a dream, but he could still feel him, taste him as though he was lying right in front of him, and his insides revolted with nausea. The thoughts that had flickered through his mind were still fresh, the satisfaction of watching the pleasure engulf him still quirking his lips into a familiar smirk. He shuddered. He had used that boy, and something was telling him that wasn't the only time. No wonder Edward hated him.

_Roy_, his mind interjected sharply. _He hates Roy, Colonel Roy_, _and he isn't even real_.

He groaned, pulling his blanket up to his chin. Real or not, that didn't stop his Amestris counterpart from haunting him. And if he couldn't get this imaginary man out of his mind, if he believed it, did that make _him_ crazy too?

He didn't sleep at all that night.


	8. Reality Check

I hate this part. But I re-wrote it five times, and I liked this one the best, so here it is! Don't worry if you're confused. At this point, you're supposed to be.

**Note:** From this point, Roy's going to be acting a little OOC for a while. There's a reason for this, as you'll find out, so don't shout at me.

**The Usual Disclaimer:** Even after eight parts of this story, and God-knows-how-many of Conflicted, I still don't own Fullmetal Alchemist. That would be the ever-so-lovely Arakawa-sensei. I am making no money from this. I am poor, and living off noodles. 'Super Noodles', not even the cool ramen kind. Stupid credit crunch...

* * *

It was the fourth night in a row Roy had awoken in a cold sweat. At least, he thought it was. He had considered carving a notch into the dingy gray brick for each night that passed with him sitting against the wall, knees drawn up to his chest, and eyes closed but slumber refusing to claim him, but decided that was too cliche. That, and it was impossible to recall how long he had been here, anyway.

The days all seemed to blend into one another, with the help of the anti-depressants he was being given twice a day to banish the thought of jumping from another building. The only references he had were the steady healing of his injuries: the thin white scars and yellow bruises where bleeding gashes had once resided. He couldn't look at them. He couldn't let himself think of how long he had been imprisoned, for fear of seriously losing his mind. If he hadn't already, that is.

He sighed heavily, straightening his back and stretching until his vertebrae gave a pleasant _crack_. He slouched again. If possible, he felt even worse. The tension refused to leave his shoulders; couldn't bear to relinquish its grip enough to let him sleep. All that could lull him from his relentless mind was the steady rhythm of approaching footsteps, ones that Roy hated to admit he recognized without even thinking.

The three doctors who patrolled E Block each sounded different: so much so that Roy could decipher their identity without even opening his eyes. Armstrong's were the heaviest: slow, and surprisingly graceful for a man of his incomparable size. Havoc's were much lighter, and usually accompanied by the clicking of a toothpick between his teeth.

Fuery was a small and bespectacled figure; the furthest thing from intimidating. His footsteps were light and swift, and squeaked quietly against the tile due to how often he polished them. Roy was left in no doubt that it was his turn to patrol the block tonight, and he almost smiled. He liked Fuery. Perhaps, if he hadn't been ridiculed too much by the other inmates, he might even tell him the date.

Encouraged by this thought, Roy pushed himself to his feet using the palms of both of his hands, and stumbled over to the bars, head spinning in protest of the sudden movement. Fuery was standing directly opposite him, polishing his spectacles with the handkerchief he kept in his pocket at all times (_Right next to the steel truncheon_, Roy thought darkly) and eyes averted firmly to his skillful hands, sliding across the glass with well-practiced precision.

"Hey," he murmured, grimacing at the sound of his own voice. It sounded like he had been chewing gravel for two weeks, and then shoved a lit blowtorch in there for good measure. "What's the date?"

Fuery didn't reply. He raised his spectacles, inspecting them against the florescent lights for a moment, before dropping them again and continuing to clean them. Roy was patient; perhaps he'd been talking to Connor the obsessive-compulsive for too long and his penchant for cleaning had rubbed off on him, but after about five minutes of this Roy had to admit his patience was wearing thin.

"Kain!"

He looked up, then. It was impossible to ignore the desperation, the, dare he think it, _fear_ in that tone, and the moment their eyes met, Roy almost screamed out loud. He was looking at him certainly, there was no doubt about that, but not with eyes. There _were_ no eyes.

Instead, there were gaping black holes where eyes should have been, ones that Roy hated to think he could almost see straight through. His mouth was agape, jaw slack, as though he was trying to speak, but could form no words. Roy found himself in much the same state: stumbling backwards in terror, and only managing a few steps before he collapsed to the floor, shaking his head as though if he denied it enough, this vision would leave him alone.

He couldn't tear his eyes from it. There was so much pain in what used to be his eyes: they almost reminded him of-... He shuddered. No, he wouldn't think about that. Not now. Almost as though he could hear his thoughts, Fuery raised a hand, revealing that it had been blackened by flame, and the hint of dried blood was still visible. Roy choked as he tried to breathe, turned his head, but the man's voice could not be ignored.

"Roy," he tensed. That wasn't Kain's voice. It...it was Edward's. "What have you done?"

He screamed then. A long, mournful howl that was enough to tear himself from the torture of his own mind, and his onyx eyes managed to focus on the floor he was now lying on, bathed in sunlight he hadn't noticed before. He looked up sharply, and found a bewildered and wide-eyed Kain Fuery staring back at him, holding a small, plastic cup in one hand.

"Roy?"

"Y-y-you..." Roy stammered, hands shaking almost violently. "...Eyes...Ed...Ed...Edward! I have to see him! Edward!!"

The last word was bellowed, as though hoping he could hear him from all the way over in G Block. Fuery simply watched him, unperturbed as always, though he defied his image of apathy by chewing nervously at his lower lip. He was used to this kind of behavior: to watching his patients hallucinate and scream and cry until there was nothing left of them, but not from Roy.

He forced a smile once the elder man had silenced himself. "Okay, Roy," he said consolingly. "Take your pills, and then we can go to the Rec Room and see Edward there, alright?"

Roy nodded furiously, tangling his feet in the hem of his nightgown in his haste to stand, and only managing to make it as far as the bars after several moments of confused struggling. Extricating himself from the fabric, he gave a jubilant smile and held out his hand, where Fuery dropped several small, white pills, and handed him the cup of water with his other hand.

Roy liked these, he thought as he knocked the pills down his tarnished throat, and followed them with the liquid as an afterthought. The dreams had been getting worse lately, and always concerning himself, and Edward Elric: things he was certain he didn't want to know. Even in daylight he wasn't safe; tormented by voices ringing in his ears, and people changing right before his very eyes. Pills could make all that go away.

"Aah," he opened his mouth, to assure Fuery that he had indeed swallowed them (Oh, the ways of hiding them he had learned over the months were too many to count) and grinned triumphantly. "Can I see him now?"

Fuery sighed despairingly, but couldn't prevent a fond smile from playing at his lips. "Alright, Chief. But any trouble, and you're going straight to Isolation, understand?"

His tone was hardly threatening, though Roy still nodded his agreement, far too preoccupied with thoughts of Edward to bother putting up much of a fight. Drawing a set of keys from his pocket, Fuery gestured for him to turn around and he complied, crossing his hands behind his back with ease that implied he had done this a hundred times before.

The keys jingled pleasantly as they slipped into the lock, and a moment later Roy felt a hand latching around both of his wrists, and steering him from the cell. He found himself smiling as his bare feet padded down the stark white hallway: a triumphant, smug smile that was inches away from a smirk, almost as though he was recalling a joke that only he really understood. The expression was familiar, and it made Fuery nervous.

Eight months could really change a person.

----

Roy blinked. Twice. But the fraction of a second when his eyes were closed did not change the scene in front of him, which he thought odd. That usually worked. His mind was telling him he was curled on a chair in the Rec Room, but that wasn't true. He had been in his cell just a moment ago, when the same stupid mind of his had confused Fuery with Edward, and the boy from the Ishbalan battlefield who _also_ wasn't real. So he wasn't about to believe a word it said to him any time soon.

It was metaphorically nudging him in the ribs, in that irritating way people often used to alert someone to something, and Roy was ignoring it. He already knew it wanted him to see Edward, (who also couldn't be real. He _was_ in his cell, after all) who was sitting beside him, and had been watching him intently for a good twenty minutes.

It was still quite unnerving, so without looking at him, Roy muttered, "Ed, what d'you want?"

He started; he obviously hadn't been expecting a response, and awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck. "You've been staring at Connor since you got here," he pointed out. "There's only so many times you can watch someone clean the windows."

Relaxing his eyes, Roy realized that he had indeed been staring in the aforementioned patient's general direction while his mind had been elsewhere, and he scowled. His mind had _really_ done a number on him this time. Why the Hell weren't those pills working? When was the last time he had taken them, anyway? Perhaps they'd forgotten his morning dose, and he was hallucinating in their absence. Goddamn doctors couldn't do anything right...

"Roy!" this time, there really was an elbow in his ribs, and it was sharp as Hell. Edward needed to eat more. "Where the Hell are you?"

Roy rubbed at his new bruise with a grimace, and turned away from the blond to face Connor, who was cleaning the windows again for the hundredth time. He rested his chin on his knees and closed his eyes, muttering, "Shut up. Shut _up_..."

Apparently, Edward did not take too kindly to the dismissal. The fist that suddenly collided with the elder man's jaw was proof enough of that, and he was rewarded with another stinging pain, one that felt strangely familiar. He didn't open his eyes, instead counting slowly to ten in his mind, as Dr. Hawkeye had instructed him to do when he saw something or felt something that wasn't really there, which only angered the young blond further.

"Damn you, old man!" he roared. "And you have the nerve to lecture _me_ about reality?!"

"Elric!" one of the doctors barked in warning, though Edward didn't even hear him above his own voice.

"What the Hell's got into you?!" he demanded. "_This _is real!" he sharply prodded his jaw for emphasis, and Roy winced. "You're so stupid!! You were stupid to come here! You've changed so much and you don't even _know_! This place is killing you!"

"Edward, I'm warning you-!"

Roy was counting aloud by this point, his hands over his ears to block his hallucination, and Edward was completely bewildered. It wasn't _his_ job to deal with the inmates when they finally relinquished their fragile control over their lives, but he had watched Roy Mustang become one of them: noting every single change, every time the darkness in his eyes was focused on something only he could see, and it was killing him.

_His_ Roy would never give in so easily.

"Wake!" he punched him again, drawing blood from both his knuckles, and Roy's jaw. "Up!"

He was walking on thin ice, and he knew it. The doctors were already coming over, presumably to detain him with medication and a straightjacket, but he had to get through to him. He couldn't watch the man with the Colonel's face destroy himself, in the exact manner Edward was fighting every single day.

Abandoning his plan of violence, Edward stooped down, yanking one of his hands away from his ear and whispering into it, "Colonel...Roy...you trusted me...you trusted me like you trusted Hughes," he tensed completely, and Edward knew he was listening. "So why can't you trust me, now?"

Roy looked up, and for the first time, he saw him. _Really _saw him. Reflected in his amber eyes were all those memories he'd been trying to deny; the dreams he'd convinced himself were nothing more than the product of his illness, but, looking at Edward Elric now, he knew without thinking which one of them was in danger of losing their mind.

"Ed," he whispered, his eyes wide with apprehension, and his hand enclosing around his. "I need to know...I have t-"

He didn't finish. He didn't finish because a second later, the young blond who was looking at him with an intensity that made him shiver was torn away from him, held firmly in a pair of strong arms without protest, which was more than unlike him. The doctor who had seized him obviously wasn't pleased, and he was eyeing Roy with the same distaste. Roy wanted to hit him, but suddenly found he didn't have the energy any more.

"I warned you, Elric!" the doctor spat. "You're not gonna be causing any more trouble around here, you little shit!"

It registered then that he had a one-way ticket to Isolation, and he immediately started to struggle. Without him, Roy would completely shut himself down and let his mind consume him. He may have looked like him but he had none of the Colonel's strength, and Edward cursed both of them. This was just getting worse.

Clawing anxiously at the doctor's forearms, Edward only managed to say, "I'll tell y-!" before a hand was clamped over his mouth and he was carried towards the Isolation block. He was already in trouble: both himself and this world's Edward were stubborn enough to get into regular fights, and the doctors were sick of dealing with him..._them_. He wouldn't put it past them to lock him away for good, so he wasn't about to go without a fight.

He was just in the process of biting the hand that silenced him, when two things caught his eye. The first was another door opening, and a rarely seen doctor with frighteningly pale-blue eyes entering the room, carrying a tray of plastic cups and medication. He was trying to smile, but it just reminded Edward of a snake, and the uncomfortable feeling in his gut was only worsened when Roy looked up, grinning as he realized pills were imminent.

The second was the sight of a figure. The entrance hallway was right next to the Rec Room, and the wall between the two was made up of several glass panels. The theory was that if the inmates could see who was coming and going, it would make them less anxious. It didn't work. It especially wasn't working now, as Edward fixed his eyes on the tall and bespectacled form of Maes Hughes.

Oh yeah. Things were _definitely_ getting worse.


	9. Channeling the Colonel

It's been a while, eh? I had a lot of things to work on, and right now I'm supposed to be writing one of four Biology papers due tomorrow. This seemed more appealing.

**D Is For Disclaimer!: **Fullmetal Alchemist does not belong to me. Nuh uh. No way. No how.

* * *

Roy's head was spinning, and the room revolved slowly around him until he wanted to throw up what little he'd eaten. He shivered, curling his arms around himself in some attempt at comfort, and exhaled slowly. This was just like the aftermath of a few too many glasses of Scotch, he told himself. When he was lying in bed beside the man on the other side of the small, white table, and he knew he would be running for the bathroom any second now. Yeah. It was just like that.

Except, Maes would usually comfort him in such a state. And when he awoke with a hangover, he was right there with water and aspirin, and that consoling, loving smile that he loved most about him. He frowned. Maes wasn't smiling now. Why wasn't he smiling? His eyes glittered beneath the lighting with tears he was trying to fight, and he was continuously clenching, and unclenching his fists. Nervous habit. Roy didn't like that at all.

It was only when he decided to break the awkward silence that he realized he had nothing to say. So he mumbled quite pathetically: "Hi, Maes."

Maes flinched, bit at his lower lip and spoke in barely a whisper, "Hi, Roy."

Roy wasn't fooled. He was trying to smile, he really was. Trying to hide how much it hurt to see such a strong man in a place like this, as weak and defenseless as a child. It wasn't his fault he was failing quite spectacularly. Roy eyed him suspiciously from across the table, unconsciously shoving a finger in his mouth and chewing at his fingernail. He hadn't done that since he was a teenager.

Maes swallowed hard. "So, uh..." he cleared his throat. "How've you been?"

"F-" Roy tore off a piece of his nail with his teeth and spat it to the table, earning a disgusted flinch from Maes. "Fine."

Maes cocked a brow. "Fine? Roy, I know you better than you'd think, and everything is definitely _not _fine," he leaned closer, dropping his voice to a whisper to prevent the guard from hearing. He was standing by the door to the wards, arms folded across his muscular chest and built like a brick shithouse. Maes did not want to invoke his anger. "C'mon, talk to me."

Roy inspected his bleeding finger for a moment, before placing it back in his mouth, and talking around it with well-practiced ease. "It's fine," he furrowed his brow. "White. Everything is white. I don't like that. I want my room," he seemed to realize then that everything was not quite as fine as he'd have liked and he whimpered, "Maes, I wanna go home!"

Maes stared at him in obvious disbelief. "Go home?" he whispered. "Roy, listen to yourself. You're acting like a kid!"

"I am not!" he snapped petulantly.

"Roy," Maes reached out, taking his hand away from his mouth and enclosing his fingers over his. "I know I said you should get some help, but I didn't mean this. What the Hell happened? They told me you'd-" he choked. "Tried t-" he dropped his gaze. "Was it because I-"

Roy stared at him, lips thinning in irritation. What was he talking about? It wasn't like Maes to be speechless, and especially not because of something _he_, Roy, had said or done. Usually he would just snap back with a playful, somewhat insulting, remark, and they would laugh it off and everything would go back to normal.

This conversation was confusing, it made his head hurt. He wished Maes had never come here. And more than anything, he wanted Edward. Edward would explain everything to him, just like he'd promised, and then, maybe, things would finally start to make sense. He liked that idea a lot.

To Maes' distress, the silence that fell between them was deafening, and he looked up to find Roy smiling to himself: one of those triumphant smiles, like he'd just solved a crossword puzzle, or finished the Monster Book of Sudoku. He bit his lip so hard he tasted blood on his tongue. Where was _his_ Roy underneath all that madness?

"It's, um..." he raked his free hand nervously through his unkempt hair. "Been quiet without you."

Roy looked at him. "Oh."

Maes nodded slowly. "And I spoke to Riza...she said she'd come to see you some time, if-"

Roy winced, pulling back his hand as though he couldn't bear to have him touch him. He knew, the instant Riza's name was spoken that he was supposed to see in his mind his ever-faithful second in command: his partner in fighting crime. But he didn't. He saw a woman in military attire, pistol constantly by her side and dark eyes that would've looked cold to anybody but him. The frightening part was he didn't even know why.

He hated this. He hated not knowing.

"No," he snapped. "No, I don't want..." he was shaking his head too frantically to remember how to speak. "I don't _want_ anybody here!"

"Mustang." the guard gave a warning growl, unfolding his arms and enabling him to grab Roy and drag him back to his cell if necessary.

Roy looked back at him in panic, his eyes widening to an almost comical proportion. What had he done, now? He couldn't remember if that particular guard always had that irritated frown playing about his lips, or if he was on the verge of sending Roy to Isolation. And that was one place he certainly didn't want to find himself.

From what he'd heard from Edward, Isolation was a tiny room on the mostly forgotten side of the hospital. The lights didn't work any more and nobody had bothered to fix them, the fixtures dripped, and the place was cold enough to invoke pneumonia, which meant the pitch-black box was just perfect for those few inmates who couldn't behave. The young blond had been forced there so many times that Roy didn't have the heart to doubt him.

"Alright," the guard stepped forward, clapping a heavy hand on Roy's shoulder and turning his frown to Maes. "I think you'd better go."

Maes hung his head. Was Roy even aware that he was hyperventilating, or shaking so badly he was in danger of falling from his chair? He didn't know what he was supposed to do. He wanted to hold him and promise him that everything would be alright, but at the same time he wanted to punch him for letting himself fall so far without even realizing.

So, he compromised. He gave the guard a curt nod, clambered out of the metal chair he hoped he would _never _have the misfortune to sit in again, and left the room without even once looking back. He had barely reached for the door handle when Roy screamed from behind him, and by the sounds of it, kicked his chair over as the guard attempted to take him back to the Rec Room.

He shivered, hand covering his mouth as though, somehow, that would give him the strength not to cry. He blinked back tears almost ferociously as he walked out to the parking lot, pulling his jacket closer around himself for comfort. It was only when he was safely inside his car, with the radio turned up loud enough to drown him out that the tears started falling.

----

Edward had what felt like an eternity to think, sitting in the dark with his back pressed against a cold, damp wall. It wasn't _actually_ an eternity, Havoc had told him when he came to rescue him five days later, though Edward felt no better for the knowledge. He was barely listening to a word the man was saying as he led him down the corridor, cursing silently at his bare, stupid and scratched feet that were trailing from fatigue. God, he hated Isolation.

"-So it'd be better if you were with him, y'know?"

Edward looked up guiltily through his long bangs, brushing them awkwardly from his eyes. A faint pink tinge colored his cheeks as he realized he had just been caught obviously paying no attention whatsoever, and he gave a small, apologetic shrug.

Havoc laughed. "I said the Chief's been in a pretty bad way since his visitation last week."

Edward scowled. It was not often his bratty teenage persona took control, but right now it was in full force. It didn't seem fair that he had lost his family _twice_, and Roy didn't seem to have lost anything. The scowl faltered as quickly as it had came. No, it wasn't Roy who was the object of his rage. It was seeing Maes again. Seeing a man he _knew_ to be dead.

He clenched his fists. He hated this world. He hated how, for telling the truth, he was thought insane and trapped here for the rest of his life. He hated that he had no one, not even his own brother, when Roy could quite happily spend time with a man _he_ had killed because of his own stupidity. It just wasn't fair. _Life_ wasn't fair.

His indignation was clear in his grunt of, "What's that got to do with me?"

Havoc shook his head, absently twirling his toothpick between his teeth. "You really weren't listening, huh? Well, the Boss thinks that, since you two get on pretty well, you should be cellies. You're being moved today."

Edward stared at him. "Because we _get on well_?" grabbing him by the shoulder, Edward stopped dead and shot him a knowing glare. "What's the real reason?"

Havoc silently cursed his transparency, and bit his lip. "He's been getting worse. You've noticed, right?" Edward nodded solemnly. "Right. And the only time he remembers his own name is when he's talking to you, so..." he shrugged.

Edward dropped his hand and curled it into a fist at his side. So, he'd been appointed the official keeper of Roy Mustang's steadily dwindling sanity, and he felt the resentment pooling in his gut at the thought. He'd spent nigh a week in Isolation because of that man, and right now he was the last person he wanted to see. He was certain his self control would break: slip for the merest second, and he'd say something that both of them would regret.

"Ed?" Havoc asked softly.

But Jean didn't need to know that.

Forcing the anger from his expression with well-practiced ease, Edward simply grunted, "I want the top bunk."

----

Edward's belongings were minimal. After all, he'd travelled for most of his life, and understood that his worldly possessions needed to fit inside a small, battered suitcase for convenience. The habit had stayed with him, even in this cruel and unusual world, and his Alchemy books were unpacked and lying haphazardly throughout the cell in minutes.

He nudged some of them aside with his toe, and sat down against the wall with his knees curled to his chest. He picked up an ancient, yellowing tome in slender fingers, and thumbed through to a page marked with a plastic spoon. He had managed to attain this privilege by insisting he was interested in Philosophy, and keeping this world's Edward under control for almost six months. It had drained him of strength, but to see those familiar words printed in front of him was calming enough to make it all worthwhile.

"Ed?" he had worked for his books, and didn't much appreciate the interruption. "What'cha reading?"

"A book," he answered flatly, before he looked up slyly and mocked, "Alchemy. _You_ wouldn't understand."

Roy blinked at him from where he was sprawled across his bunk, and murmured, "The Colonel-"

"Has _nothing_ to do with you," Edward snarled viciously. "So shut your damn mouth."

For a moment, Edward pitied the man. He was only trying to make conversation: trying to understand the things that plagued his dreams and tortured his mind; and to banish the nights when he lay awake, refusing to close his eyes for fear of what he might see there.

The moment was fleeting. The resentment and anger and regret all collided with him at once, and he grit his teeth as he returned to his book. He could do it. He could break him so easily with just the right selection of words, and he knew exactly which ones to use.

Turning a page, he asked without meeting his gaze, "How's Lieutenant Colonel Hughes?"

Roy looked at him sharply. "What? Maes?"

"Oh!" here it came. "Right, he got promoted, didn't he? After you killed him, I mean."

The reaction was more than satisfying. The dark-haired man sat up so quickly that he smashed his head against the underside of the upper bunk, and fell straight back to his earlier position. He didn't even acknowledge the pain. Instead, he rolled to one side and dropped to the floor, fixing Edward with such a stare that the teen was momentarily frozen.

"He was there," he said firmly, stating rather than asking. "In your world. But...I wouldn't...I wouldn't!!" lunging forward, he grabbed the blond by the shoulders, knocking the book from his hands. "What happened?!"

Edward smirked. His voice was no louder than it needed to be, but to Roy, every word felt as though it was being screamed into his ear. "If you hadn't been so stupid, he'd still be alive. Elysia would still have her _father_!"

That did it. The elder man backed off, his eyes wide with horror, and gazing down at his hands as though they were stained with blood. Edward watched him: watched his every movement, and felt a sharp pain in his chest as he saw the tears pricking at his eyes. This wasn't what he wanted.

"He..." Roy stumbled on his words. "Had a...family?"

Edward knew it was too late. He couldn't take it back, so he nodded solemnly instead. "He wanted to help you become the Fuhrer..." he guiltily dropped his gaze. He was stupid and immature. How could he wish what had happened to him on anyone? Even..._especially_ the Colonel's doppelganger? "And he was killed for it."

Roy was shaking. He noticed it first in his hands, how he held them up to his face and found they wouldn't keep still, and it gradually spread until his entire body was convulsing with panic. Edward, his back still pressed against the wall as though hoping he would fall right through it, felt disgusting. Like he'd betrayed the Colonel - _his_ Colonel, by bringing Roy Mustang to his knees like this.

He bit his lip, reaching for him. "Roy--"

He batted his hands away. "Don't," he hissed, refusing to meet his gaze. "Don't...d-don't..." his teeth were chattering. "Touch me. I'll take you down, too."

"Roy!" Edward repeated, sharper. "It wasn't your fault. You didn't know, I..." he hung his head. "If anything, it's mine. You're here because of me, remember?"

Roy felt his state changing again, as it often did these days, though he was rarely conscious enough to sense it. He could practically taste the thing that overcame him, twitching his lips into a momentary smirk before it dropped, and when he spoke again, his voice was purely Colonel Roy Mustang.

"Fullmetal, blaming yourself isn't going to get you anywhere," he said, with an air of confidence that he relished about his counterpart. "You could get out of this place so _easily_."

Edward smiled cheerlessly. He'd gotten used to this, and he loved the moments when this place felt like home. "Why should I, Roy?" he whispered. "What's the fucking point?"

Roy leaned closer, pressing his hands to the wall on either side of Edward's body to prevent him from moving. The boy stared determinedly at the floor, his face covered by long, golden bangs, and Roy reached out to gently tuck a lock of hair behind his ear.

"What would your brother say if he knew you were locked up, wallowing in your misery?"

Edward's single, visible eye darkened. "Shut up," he snarled. "You're not him. You don't know shi-"

"You did everything you could, Edward," Roy continued as though he hadn't spoken at all. "You dedicated your entire life to him, didn't you? So why can't you think of yourself, now?"

"Why should I?!" he demanded. His eyes were dark and brimming with tears, and Roy immediately saw the anger and self-loathing that he, himself was hiding. "Why should I forgive myself for letting him go?! For taking a body that isn't even _mine_?! Why should I like _anything _abou-"

His sudden silence was courtesy of a pair of lips against his, and arms pulling him close to a warm chest that he hadn't forgotten, _couldn't_ forget. He moaned softly as a strong hand cupped his jaw, tilting his head up ever-so-slightly to deepen the kiss, and unconsciously his arms slipped around his neck.

It might not have been _his_ Roy. But the Gate, Equivalent Exchange, fate, _whatever_ he wanted to call it, had brought him here, along with a reminder of home that was as cruel as it was kind. For the few seconds he was holding him, kissing him like nothing had changed, he could almost have fooled himself into thinking he wasn't so alone.

Drawing back, Roy gently stroked his face with his thumb and whispered, "I think there's a lot of things to like about you, Edward. Whether or not you choose to see them is up to you."

He crossed the cell in a few, quick strides and collapsed onto his bunk, rolling over onto his side to face the opposite wall. Edward watched him for a few moments, fingers pressed against his lips in surprise. He could still feel him. Still taste him. It was the sweetest torture he'd ever endured, and he smiled softly to himself.

Roy could never channel the Colonel for long. Occasionally, it was only a few seconds before he was back to his old, clinically insane self, but whenever he did, the memories were lost by morning. Like they never happened.

Edward looked away, staring down at his knees. He didn't want him to forget. He wanted him back. He wanted his _life_ back. Everyone he loved had been taken from him in the worst possible way, so in what logic could this _ever_ be considered equivalence?

He struck out with his flesh hand, clenching it into a fist at the last second and relishing the pain as it collided with the wall next to him. It wasn't fair, insolent teenage Edward decided, as his knuckles turned purple with bruising. It just wasn't fair.

"Ed?" Roy murmured wearily from his bunk. "Don't punish the wall," he turned his head to face the blond teen again, and held out an arm. "Come here."

That was how Jean Havoc found them the next morning. Roy had an arm wrapped around Edward's thin waist, pulling him close. The young blond was curled against his chest, his long, blond hair liberated from its usual braid for once, as the elder man ran his fingers through it lazily. Both of them had tracks of recent tears staining their cheeks.

He turned around with a faint smile, deciding to let out some of the other inmates, and leave them looking so peaceful for a few extra moments. Perhaps the Boss _did_ know what he was doing, after all.


End file.
